The Absence of Starlight
by dyingimmortal
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets featuring Levi and Petra. Includes prompts from Rivetra Week.
1. Blood

_This will be a collection of drabbles/ficlets involving Levi and Petra—mostly Rivetra, but I may include some featuring just Levi, or just Petra, or their interactions with other people. It depends._

_I write very sporadically, so don't be surprised if this doesn't get updated in six months and then suddenly gets ten updates on consecutive days. You've been warned._

_This drabble thing was written for Rivetra Week Day 2: Blood. The thing I wrote for Day 1: Repentance is posted as a separate fic on my profile (because it's too long for this drabble collection). I'll be posting more for Rivetra Week in the next few days as well (two of them will be on my profile because they're too long for this collection)._

_That said, reviews are greatly appreciated, and I hope this doesn't suck too much. I'm really out of practice when it comes to writing romance._

* * *

The first time Levi sees her bleed, she is still a child, a new recruit, flung into the trees by her 3DMG at the hands of a grinning Titan. Luckily she crashes into the leafiest part of a tree, but there is a loud crack as she collides and he sees her bright red blood drip from the branches.

The second time Levi sees her bleed, she is part of his squad. When a Titan makes a grab for Erd, she throws herself at him and they land in a tangle of limbs on the ground; Auruo cuts down that Titan a few seconds later. Splotches of scarlet form on her hands where she scraped them hard against the gravel hidden in the grass; it looks like she is cupping mangled flowers in her palms.

The third time Levi sees her bleed, she is in his office, delivering paperwork from Erwin, when she slices her finger open on one of the sheets. She swears under her breath, much to his amusement, and he wordlessly hands her a handkerchief. It takes him ten minutes to scrub the crimson stain out of the cloth.

The fourth time Levi sees her bleed, they are almost done training, when he notices the red streaked across the back of her pants. He taps her and points it out; she turns scarlet up to the roots of her hair and apologizes. It's not her fault, it's only natural, but a week passes before she stops blushing whenever she sees him.

The fifth time Levi sees her bleed, he can only think he wasn't fast enough; he should have been on the Titan's left flank at the moment it smashed into her. Blood pours from her wounded side as she falls, but Gunter gets her to safety in time, and he shouldn't be thinking things like this while fighting but he wishes it had been him.

The sixth time Levi sees her bleed, it is because of him; he bit her lower lip too hard. But she is smiling, unabashed joy on her face, and she doesn't seem to care about or even notice the drop of blood on her mouth. She throws her arms around him and whispers his name like a prayer, and he whispers her name back against her lips.

The seventh time Levi sees her bleed, she is in his bed and her nails are digging into his back; he strokes her shoulders and thinks he should have known, but she acts far too experienced for him to have guessed. She trembles against him, face scrunched up in pleasure or pain or likely a mixture of both, but she tells him not to stop. He obliges.

The last time Levi sees her bleed, she is in his office again, and he is telling her that she and the rest of the squad are fools for babying Eren. She retorts that they all need to trust each other. He thinks they didn't need to harm themselves to prove a point, but when he says this, she starts to protest again. He pulls out another handkerchief, bandages her hand, then starts trailing kisses down her wrists. She is effectively silenced.

XXX

He does not see her bleed again, but there is blood, blood everywhere, staining the dirt and the bark of the tree and her smooth, soft skin and her shining golden hair. He stares down at her body, twisted far below him, and for a moment cannot help the selfish thought that he would rather see her bleed a thousand more times and stay with him than be reduced to just another smear of blood on the ground.


	2. Hidden Kisses

It's moments like these Petra lives for, little snippets of time stolen from busy lives of training and fighting, moments when they can all sit around the table after dinner and chat and hang out or just sit in companionable silence (well, mostly-silence) and relax.

Erd and Auruo are playing cards; Erd's winning, much to Auruo's dismay, and he protests Erd's every move to Eren's laughter and Gunter's quiet chuckles. Levi sits at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, signing off paperwork. Petra takes in the scene with a fond smile as she smoothes out her own sheets of paper, letters from her father she has yet to reply to.

As she pulls out her pen and scrawls her home address across the top, she wonders what she'll say in this one. She hasn't been able to _not_ mention Levi in any of her previous letters, and she has a feeling her father has noticed, noticed but hasn't said anything. He wants her to breach the subject first.

But what _can_ she say? There's so much to write, so much that she can fill up pages and pages and still not be done writing, and it's much easier not to say anything at all. When it comes to Levi, less is always better.

Well, that's not _always_ true. There are certain things she'd love more of from him, always craves more of, never gets enough of.

She can't help glancing at him then, and finds him looking back at her, one eyebrow slightly quirked as if he can hear her thoughts. The corners of her lips tug upwards into a smile, and she stares back down at her letter again.

_Dear Papa,_ she begins, then finds herself stuck once more.

What can she write? _I know this must seem sudden, Papa, but I'm going to marry Captain Levi. _No, too straightforward. _You know how I always praise Captain Levi in my letters? Well, it turns out I love him so I'm going to marry him. _No, too flippant. _Guess what, Papa? Your little girl's grown up and about to get married! _No, definitely not.

She shakes her head in frustration. This shouldn't be difficult. She's writing to her _father_, not a stranger. She should just be honest; she doesn't need to coat her message with fancy wording and rich prose like Levi does when he has to write to high officials in Sina.

She can feel his gaze on her again, and she makes the mistake of looking at him. The others probably couldn't tell if they looked at him—maybe they'd blame it on the fireplace's flickering flames—but she can see the heat swirling in the depths of his gray eyes, a look she's become accustomed to.

Petra smothers a laugh even as her cheeks warm slightly. Since they moved to the old castle a few weeks ago, they've kept their mutual agreement to sleep in their own rooms, not wanting the others to catch on in this more confined space. Aside from a few all-too-quick kisses, they haven't touched each other at all for weeks.

It bothers Petra, but she thinks it bothers him more, which makes it almost worth it just to see him squirm (metaphorically, of course; Captain Levi doesn't _squirm_). _Stop it,_ she wants to mouth at him, but she sees Gunter glancing at her, so she averts her eyes and looks back down at her letter.

"Hey, stop cheating!" Auruo suddenly bellows, slamming his fist down on the table, sending vibrations through the wood. Petra jumps; Eren and Gunter look startled; Levi's coffee sloshes in its cup and his pen falls onto the ground, rolling under the table.

"I'm not cheating!" Erd bellows back, but he's grinning, and Auruo doesn't really look angry; they're just being goofballs again. Petra rolls her eyes at their antics.

She picks up her pen and has just pressed it to paper when something hot presses into her ankle. She bites back a yelp of surprise.

Cool fingers encircle her foot and she immediately understands; she knows that touch as well as her own. Levi's seat is pushed back, empty, and her eyes dart to the rest of her squad, but they're too preoccupied with Erd and Auruo's fake shouting match to notice.

She feels his breath hot on her ankle; his fingers push the fabric of her pants leg up, and then his lips are on the spot just above her anklebone. He trails open-mouthed kisses up her calf and Petra does squirm. _Stop it,_ she wants to say, _everyone's right here! If one of them looks under the table or kicks you in the face by accident…_

He grazes his teeth across the joint of her ankle and she's unable to suppress her yelp this time. Four pairs of eyes immediately swivel to her.

"What's wrong, Petra?" Eren asks, concern shining in his green eyes. "You're turning red."

"N-nothing!"

Levi emerges from beneath the table, cravat unruffled and clothes neatly pressed as usual, something twisted in his fingers, fingers that only a moment ago were stroking the arch of her foot and _oh God screw the agreement_. His eyes are flat, bored.

"Sorry," he says, like he accidentally bumped her. "I dropped my pen."

* * *

_GodwhatisthiscrapI'msorryIcan'twriteromanceaslkdjf ;ajslkjdflsjdflskjdf._


	3. Heist AU version 1

_A/N: This is based off an __anon ask on tumblr and the Heist Society series by Ally Carter. Because when I thought "Rivetra heist AU" (the prompt) I immediately thought of them in Kat and Hale's situation. None of these ideas are mine; I'm just writing them out. Terms are heavily borrowed from Heist Society because I know absolutely nothing about heists/sneaking around/international art theft. Some dialogue is borrowed too. (Wow, I'm original.) I got carried away and wrote three versions of a "Rivetra heist AU," so I'll be posting the other two versions later._

_The thing I wrote for Rivetra Week Day 4: AU will be posted later today on my profile because it's way too long for this collection. These three drabble things were just written on a whim while I was supposed to be finishing Day 7's prompt._

* * *

The manor was supposed to be deserted.

He'd been planning this particular heist for a quite a while now; it had been no picnic getting the blueprints and surveillance camera locations—Hanji had mentioned that the firewalls around the Rals' security were unusually tough to crack—and there had been a recent art theft at the Henley that had caused all the private owners of Rembrandts and Monets to lock them up tightly in safes harder to crack than Petrovichs.

But according to the security footage Hanji had gotten into, the Rals' most prized Monet—a hundred million dollars' worth of century-old paint and delicate brushstrokes—still hung in their grand foyer, displayed just as proudly as it had always been, and the Rals had been invited to the Schulz family's vacation home in Bora Bora for the week. Their household staff had been given the week off; no one was supposed to be home.

Levi hadn't encountered any trouble when he'd "borrowed" a car from the parking lot at the shopping complex twenty minutes away from the manor. He hadn't had any problems scaling the fence around the manor. There was no difficulty in staying in the cameras' blind spots, waiting for the guards to shift their attention from where he planned to enter, climbing the trellis outside a first-floor window and clipping the wires around the window. He'd dropped inside and landed soundlessly on his feet without a single complication.

It wasn't until he stood in the foyer of the mansion, looking up at the painting hanging over the fireplace mantel in the center of the room's back wall, that trouble arrived in the form of quiet footsteps and the flicking of a light switch.

Years of stealth kept him from jumping in surprise; he only blinked and turned. A girl, only a few years younger than him from the looks of it, stood at the foot of the stairs in the entrance hall, frowning at him. Her copper hair was loose and messy around her face and her tank top and pajama pants were rumpled; she looked like she'd just climbed out of bed.

Had she just come down the stairs? He should have heard her.

"You shouldn't be here," she said. Her voice was surprisingly calm for a girl who'd just found a male intruder in her home.

"Neither should you," Levi said. He remembered the Rals who lived in this house had three grown sons and two daughters; the older daughter was currently studying law at Stanford. This must be the younger one then.

Her expression was wry; she pushed a strand of hair behind one ear and cocked her head at him. "Yeah, tell that to my dad. You here for the Monet?"

Well, at least she wasn't screaming for the guards yet. Levi looked back up at the painting and shook his head.

"Really?" She arched an eyebrow. "I doubt that. How were you going to get it down anyway? You're pretty short for a thief."

_You're one to talk_, Levi thought; the girl was most definitely shorter than him. All he said was, "No, this is a fake."

For the first time since discovering him, the girl appeared taken aback. "What? No, it's real. The Ral family has the largest collection of Monets in the States."

"Private collection," Levi said, "and this doesn't belong to it." He gestured at the bright paints, the careful brushstrokes—too careful. "It's a forgery; a well-done forgery, but a forgery nonetheless."

The girl stared up at the painting, eyes critical. "Really? How can you tell?"

Levi suddenly thought he was being stupid; he'd miscalculated and despite all his careful planning, the heist had failed. Thieves stayed in the shadows for a reason; it was way past time to leave. Instead of answering the girl's question, he shoved his tools back into the pockets of his jacket, his boots, and headed for the window he'd entered through.

Footsteps padded after him. "Where are you going?"

"You don't want to know," he said, easing the window back open. He swung one leg over the sill and was preparing to climb back down when a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Tell me or I'll scream."

He turned back to the girl; her eyes were perfectly serious, but there was a lightness to her voice and in her face that didn't match the situation. She almost seemed to be… enjoying herself?

Levi was a thief; he dealt with all sorts of art and occasionally jewelry, not people. He wasn't sure how to handle himself around this girl, especially with her apparent bravado—didn't she know how lucky she was that he wasn't any other sort of male intruder? He wouldn't knock her unconscious or worse to prevent her from screaming.

"Why do you want to know?" he finally ventured.

She smiled; it lit up her face, her eyes beaming. "I want to go with you."

"No fucking way."

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to kidnap some girl."

"You wouldn't be kidnapping me. I'd be coming along of my own free will."

"What the hell do you want to come along for anyway?"

She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eyes, and a random tidbit of information popped into his mind; the youngest daughter's name started with a P. Patricia? Pamela? "That's my business. Let me come with you or I'll yell for the guards."

"I came for a painting, not a girl. Nobody would believe me if I said I hadn't kidnapped you."

"No one will miss me," she said. "I'm home alone, aren't I?"

She sounded so sure, so confident, and for a moment he entertained the idea: letting her go with him, bringing her back to Erwin and Hanji (who would be ecstatic to have another girl on the team), finding out her reasons for wanting to leave her fancy house and posh lifestyle for a completely different one, learning her name.

The thought flashed in his mind for only a moment before he made his decision.

"Sorry," he said, and pushing her hand from his arm, he dropped from the window and onto the trellis below.

He would take his chances with the police for a break-in rather than a state court for kidnapping.

He climbed down the trellis as quickly as he could and darted across the manor grounds, trying to stick to the shadows, but haste made him rather reckless. He didn't check for guards—they were going to be chasing him in a moment, anyway—and made more noise than he should have scaling back up the fence, and he didn't even bother to be quiet as he revved the engine and peeled out of the driveway leading up to the gates of the Ral manor.

It wasn't until some twenty minutes later, after he'd returned the car to where he'd found it and was standing in line at the train station for a ticket, that he realized she hadn't called the guards on him.

* * *

_A bit different from what happened in Heist Society, but I just can't picture Levi letting her go with him, so yeah._


	4. Heist AU version 2 part 1

Petra recognized him the moment she saw him.

She'd studied countless pictures of the man, spent countless hours fruitlessly chasing breadcrumbs and other sparse trails over the Internet as she tried to pin him down, find solid proof of his involvement with many of the dozens of art thefts that had occurred around the globe in the past few years. Unfortunately, none of her efforts had yielded positive results; the man and his team were as slippery as water falling through her fingers.

She knew he was only 5'3", but it didn't really hit her until she saw him on the street and saw just how short he was—_she _was short for a woman, and he was barely taller than her. He looked exactly like he did in pictures though—clothing neatly pressed, face aloof, eyes cold.

When she started making her way towards him, he glanced up, and recognition flickered in his eyes. Of course, it was no secret that Interpol officer Petra Ral had been chasing him for months; considering the talent of his team, he probably knew a lot about her too.

"Mr. Levi," she said, inclining her head.

He nodded. "Officer Ral."

There was a moment of silence as they sized each other up; the bustling streets of London continued to move around them, but the noise was muted in Petra's ears, like world had faded into the background and Levi had taken center stage. Every detail of him, from the knot of his tie to the shine on his shoes, stood out clearly in her eyes: she was finally meeting him in person—and it was not to slap handcuffs on him.

"Fancy seeing you here in London," she said, meeting his gaze. She thought she saw a twitch of amusement at the edge of his lips, but it was gone before she could be sure.

"Just enjoying the sights," he said, and he sounded so deadpan she almost laughed. People usually didn't say they were _enjoying the sights_ in such a bored voice.

"So you had nothing to do with the disappearance of a few Impressionist paintings at the Henley two days ago, did you?" The museum's security was still on edge; the Henley was one of the toughest places in the world to get into.

"I assure you, Officer," he said, and there was definitely something like amusement in his tone now, "that's merely an unfortunate coincidence. I'm just a tourist right now."

_Right_, she wanted to say, _I'm sure you were there, as a tourist, dressed in black and the cause of the fire alarm that went off, _coincidentally_._ She only smiled at him though, and anyone passing by who saw it might even think it looked friendly.

"We're onto you, you know," she said, lowering her voice. "You can't keep hiding your trails. We've already got some leads, and your team can't be perfect all the time. One day, you're going to slip up, and when you do, we'll be there. We'll have you in prison faster than you can say _da Vinci_."

He only smirked. "You can try."

Anger sparked somewhere in the pit of her stomach, and she found herself leaning forward, staring up at him, resisting the urge to poke her finger into his chest. "Believe me, I will."

He leaned forward too; oh yes, he was _definitely_ amused. "Is that a challenge, Officer?"

He was right in her face, his breath tickling her nose, his eyes intent on hers. Something else curled in her stomach, something warm, something that was _not_ anger, and she pushed the thought aside quickly before it could fully develop. Just because she was dedicated to her job and spent all her spare time on it didn't mean she should go around feeling attracted to any man who got within two feet of her. Especially not a man like _him_.

"It's not a challenge," she told him. "It's a promise."

Clichéd words, she supposed, but they fit.

"In that case," Levi said, "good luck." He clasped her hand, suddenly—his palm was cool and dry—and shook it once. "I'll see you around."

He turned and walked away then, the crowded streets of London swallowing him up as quickly as they'd spat him out. She watched his retreating back until he disappeared, completely lost in the crowd.

_I'll see you around._

She looked forward to it.

* * *

_What is this crap I don't know. Meh. Oh, and Levi's supposed to be his last name, in case that wasn't clear._


	5. Heist AU version 3

_Once again, technical terms are shamelessly taken from the Heist Society series by Ally Carter. __I'm supposed to be finishing Rivetra week day 7's prompt right now what is wrong with me._

* * *

It wasn't there.

It had taken him nearly two months to plan everything to the last detail: studying the blueprints of the building, figuring out how to bypass the security (the laser grids on the main floor were quite nasty), learning which safe would be used to hold the item, getting tools ready, actually practicing cracking the safe—he was one of the most talented safecrackers in the world, but he was going to be dealing with a Scribner 9000: drill-proof and hack-proof with an internal gyroscope that had titanium shafts bolt into place at the slightest sign of trouble.

All his hard work had proved fruitful; he'd gotten into the building and opened the safe with no problems whatsoever. The only problem now, he saw, was that the item was not there.

He racked his brains quickly, wondering if he'd missed any articles announcing anything about the transportation of the item, an exquisite piece of jewelry crafted over a century ago. It was only supposed to be here for one night before it was moved; there was an open slot for it at a fine arts museum in Czechoslovakia.

Was it possible the information he'd found was false? But no, that couldn't be right; Hanji was the best hacker he knew (and he'd worked with many of them) and she'd assured him the information was legit. No, someone else had gotten to it before him.

It was only supposed to be here for _one night_ though. If someone else had gotten to it…

The thought had just crossed his mind when a voice came from behind him.

"Looking for this?"

Silently cursing himself for not having registered another person's presence, he turned. A figure dressed in black stood a few feet away from him, one hand cocked on her hip—it was a woman, her tight clothing told him that much, but he could not see much else. Besides the fact that it was dark in the basement, she had a black wool cap pulled over her ears and a black scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth; he only caught a glimpse of pale skin and a flash of amber eyes. She was holding out one hand, the forty million dollar necklace dangling from her fingers.

"Who sent you?" he wanted to know.

Her mouth was covered, but he could swear her lips curled into a smile under the black cloth. "Who says someone sent me?" Her voice was soft, muffled by the scarf, but he could place a faint trace of an accent in her words—German, perhaps.

"You must work for someone." He thought of all the infamous female thieves he knew—she was definitely not one of them. She was also short, shorter than him; rarely anyone he met nowadays was (he'd been in Norway for the past week).

"What makes you think that?"

"You cracked a Scribner nine series; there are only a handful of people in the world who can work the tumblers on one of those."

"I'm talented," she said, and Levi believed that.

"I've never heard of you before."

"Of course you haven't." She retracted her hand; the necklace disappeared into the folds of her clothing. "I prefer to stay under the radar. Not everyone likes to be as notorious as you, Levi."

So she recognized him. "Did you know I was going to be here tonight?"

She shrugged. "I guessed."

There was silence for a moment then, a thick, heavy silence permeated by the musty air in the basement. The woman regarded him with those amber eyes, something like curiosity in them.

"You wanted to meet me," Levi said at last.

She nodded. That would explain why she hadn't left by now, at least. "I wanted to watch you work. You took less time with the safe than I did."

He gestured at her empty hand, indicating the necklace. "What are you planning to do with that?"

She was smiling; he could tell. "I don't know. What were _you_ planning to do with it?"

Honestly, he wasn't even completely sure. There was something very satisfying about pulling off a particularly tricky heist, the thrill of the chase, he supposed, something that left him feeling accomplished and content with life for a while. And then he would sell the item, or trade it, or sometimes even give it back, and then the itch to _do_ something would start again. He did not want a forty million dollar necklace; he had plenty of money already. He wanted something new.

"I don't know," he told the woman, answering her question, and he could see by the way her eyes softened slightly that she knew exactly what he meant.

She pulled the necklace out again; its jewels caught in the dim light of the basement and sparkled, catching both their attention. They looked at it for a moment before she stretched out her hand.

"You can have it."

He only blinked at her.

"Take it." She took a few steps forward until she was standing in front of him, then grasped his hands. Hers were warm even through her gloves; when she let go, the necklace was in his fingers.

"I don't want it," he said, and found that it was true. She'd gotten to it first; it was hers. He wasn't a petty street criminal, and there _was_ honor among thieves like them.

She was smiling again. "Then what are you going to do with it?"

He got the feeling she was testing him, though why, he had no idea. He eyed her for a moment before placing the necklace carefully back in the safe and pushing the door firmly shut. The locks clicked again.

She beamed then; and he could tell for sure because she pulled her scarf down from her mouth and removed her cap, revealing a surprisingly young face and bright copper hair that shone despite the bad lighting in the basement. She stretched out one hand to shake, and he took it.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Levi. I'm Petra. Would you like to meet the rest of my team?"

He thought about it for a brief second—go back to the hotel and tell Hanji and Erwin what had happened, or go with this woman, this talented safecracker he'd never heard of, Petra, someone like him, someone new.

"Sure, why not."

A bright smile overtook her face again, and Levi had a feeling he'd be seeing it many more times in the weeks to come.

* * *

_Yeah wtf I don't know sorry I just like playing around with these things. Off to work on day 7's prompt now, alsdkjfasldf._

_(Petra's team is comprised of Erd, Auruo, and Gunter, of course)_


	6. Captain and Soldier

_A/N: So when I read the prompt "Captain and Soldier" all I could think of was Disney's Mulan, particularly the "I'll Make A Man Out of You" part, which resulted in this. Technically this should be AU, but since I've already got something else for AU this prompt will fall under "Captain and Soldier" instead. Hope no one minds._

* * *

Levi is just about to leave the training grounds for the night when he hears the faint sounds of grunting and cursing on the other side of the compound.

He looks up at the night sky with a scowl; the moon is hidden behind clouds and the sky is dark save for little pinpricks of light from the stars. All the brats should be in their barracks by now, fast asleep after a day of grueling training, or at least in the mess hall or the common rooms. The grounds are supposed to be cleared out by this time.

Muttering a few curses of his own under his breath, Levi unhooks the keys from the groove on the wall of the shed and makes his way outside. The heat of the day has been replaced by the chill of night, and goosebumps pop up on his bare arms as he walks across the compound.

The muttered expletives and heavy breaths get louder as he approaches the obstacle courses—beyond those is the area the trainees use to practice hand-to-hand combat. Rows of punching bags and mats line one wall, benches and lockers filled with bandages another.

As Levi rounds the corner, he sees a figure punching and kicking at an inflated bag, then flopping over and rubbing his knuckles before trying again. Copper hair flashes in the dim light—_oh_. It's Peter Ral.

The boy showed up just last week, a full week later than the rest of the recruits. He's a short, scrawny thing, even shorter than Levi, with big eyes and delicate features and soft, full lips. He claims to be sixteen, but with his high voice and skinny frame and girly looks, he appears no older than twelve, thirteen at most.

So far he's been pretty much failing at every single training exercise Levi has put them through, though there's no denying the kid has willpower. And guts. He's one of the only new recruits who can look Levi in the eyes and not flinch.

_"And you are?" Levi asks._

_ The boy stares straight back at him, eyes bright and face determined, one fist clenched over his heart. "Peter Ral, sir!"_

_ "Where are you from?"_

_ "Sina, sir!"_

_ There is a rustle as the rest of the trainees gathered start whispering amongst themselves. _Sina,_ they say, _Sina is safe_, and _what the hell is a kid from Sina doing here_, they want to know._

_ It's true, though; Sina is one of the safest places to be in this entire forsaken world, and Levi thinks he'll be damned if he's going to let an inexperienced, soft-skinned inner-city boy join the military if all he's going to do is lag behind and whine and complain about the tough life out here._

_ But everyone deserves a fighting chance, whether they are hardhearted street kids or much-too-pretty city boys or even women (Levi's never agreed with the verdict that only men can fight). So he only stares Peter Ral straight in the eyes, and Peter stares back, not a hint of uncertainty on his face._

_ "I don't need anyone causing trouble in this camp," Levi says, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes to emphasize his point. "You work your ass off, you do as I say, you don't complain, and you'll fit in just fine. If you can't do that, you should save us all the trouble and go home. Now."_

_ Peter lifts his chin, and Levi could swear there is a spark of defiance in the boy's eyes. "Understood. I'll do my best not to disappoint, sir."_

_ Levi tilts his head slightly to study the boy's expression; it's fierce and unwavering but there's a hint of… not quite fear, more like anxiety perhaps mixed in. Peter's cheeks turn a pretty shade of red at the scrutiny but he doesn't look away._

_ Levi shakes his head and steps back—_and since when did words like _pretty_ start appearing in his vocabulary?_—before gesturing at one of the other recruits to step up. "Take him to the barracks and find him an empty bunk and a spare bedroll." As Peter starts to turn away, Levi adds, "If you truly want to become a soldier, Ral, then I expect nothing but the best from you."_

_ Peter nods, his eyes shining. "Yes, sir."_

Looking at him now, on his knees and panting on the ground, Levi wonders if this is really the kid's best. He's certainly been trying hard for the past week, but there's no denying that in physical terms, he has a long way to go if he wants to catch up to his comrades.

Peter looks up and, upon seeing Levi standing there, shoots to his feet. "Sir!" he says with a clumsy salute.

"You should be in bed, Ral," Levi says.

"I know," Peter says with a dejected sigh, scuffing the toe of his shoe in the dirt. "I was just trying to get a little extra practice in. Not that it's really doing any good." He laughs, a little bitterly. "Sir," he adds.

_Stop calling me sir,_ Levi is tempted to say, because he has his hands full training these brats all day and all he ever hears is _sir_ this and _sir_ that. Hanji, the medical examiner, the only person who's called him by his name in the past two weeks, doesn't drop by nearly enough.

"Hitting a punching bag a few extra times isn't going to affect your progress, kid," is all he says. "Go to sleep."

"But…" Peter opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it, then closes it again, like he can't decide if he should say something or not. "If I may, sir."

"Go on."

"I… I promised to do my best, sir, and since I'm lagging behind everyone else, shouldn't I do everything I can to keep up? Even if I improve just a tiny bit, it still helps, right?"

Levi just stares at him, wondering how on earth anyone can be so goddamn _earnest_. Peter may be lacking in physical prowess, but he overcompensates for that in sheer determination. If only the other new recruits thought this way, Levi would probably get a large half of the year off from training them.

He sighs and leans back against the wall, ignoring the bits of dust and dirt that settle onto his bare shoulders. "Do it again."

Peter looks startled. "W-what?"

"Keep punching."

The boy shoots Levi a slightly nervous look, but does as he's told. He settles into a stance, raises his fists, and swings wide. His blow glances off the edge of the punching bag and he curses again, shaking his bruised knuckles.

"Your stance is unbalanced," Levi says, pushing off the wall to demonstrate. "You favor your right foot a little, and you're too grounded. Balance your weight equally on the balls of your feet—_lightly_. And when you punch, keep your thumb more firmly outside your fist. The way you're punching now is ineffective and carries the risk of breaking your thumb."

"Oh. Like… this?" Peter holds up his fist in question.

"Keep your wrists straight."

"Oh."

"Try again."

He settles into a more solid stance and aims for the punching bag again. This time the blow lands squarely, sending it swinging back on its rope.

The look on Peter's face is one of happy amazement. "I could only do that one out of four or five times before," he murmurs to himself. He turns to Levi and salutes again. "Thank you, sir!"

"For fuck's sake," Levi grumbles. "Stop that."

Peter drops his hand from his chest, but he's still smiling. "Thank you, Captain Levi."

Levi blinks and scowls. It's the first time he's heard his name in two weeks, and it takes him by surprise. "Go to sleep, kid."

Peter just keeps standing there beaming like an idiot; the moon has come out from behind the clouds a little and shines on his short copper hair, settles a white glow over his face. "Do you mind if I practice a bit more, sir? I'll lock the gates behind me."

"I'll lock them and leave them open," Levi says. "Remember to shut them or I'll make you run laps all day tomorrow and clean the barracks all night."

"Yes, sir."

Levi leaves him to his punching bag and walks back to the compound entrance, letting the keys jangle on his finger as he walks. Peter isn't too hopeless after all; just a bit clueless about basic principles. With that resolve and a bit of extra training, the boy can still catch up with his comrades in no time, Levi thinks. He'll make that pretty boy into a soldier yet.

There's that word again—_pretty_. Levi grimaces and clenches the keys more tightly.

_Oh, for fuck's sake. I need to get laid._

* * *

Petra watches the captain go, and for a moment allows her eyes to linger on the well-developed muscles of his back, the strong tendons in his arms. She shakes her head quickly, feeling her cheeks go hot, and laughs self-deprecatingly.

_You're not Petra,_ she has to remind herself. _You're not a nineteen-year-old girl. You're sixteen-year-old Peter Ral, and Peter would _not_ care about stuff like that._

She turns back to the punching bag with renewed purpose and strikes it hard with her fists. She has to remember why she's here, why she went to all this trouble. Why she cut off her long hair and dressed in boys' clothes, why she ran away from home, why she's lying to everyone here, who she's protecting. The cause she's fighting for.

She _can_ do it. She thought she was beyond hope, but it turns out she was just ignorant about some things. If other people—if the captain—continue to help her in little ways like this, she'll improve much more quickly.

She slams into the punching bag again with a fierce smile. It seems to rebound off her fists, sending little reverberations down her arms. She's already getting better; she'll be a great fighter in no time. The very best.

She _will_ make the captain proud to call her one of his soldiers.

* * *

_Levi is shirtless as a tribute to Shang. Because in "I'll Make A Man Out of You" it was dark out when Shang was sitting on some random rock or whatever and angsting about Mulan's incompetence and then when he was giving Mulan the medallion things and telling her to climb up the pole and all I could think was "Aren't you cold, man?"_

_I know nothing about fighting/military camps/training stuff, if it's not obvious already. Feel free to point out anything grossly incorrect. Or just incorrect in general._

_I'm not quite sure if the Titans exist in this—either it's like the canon SnK world with the difference that girls aren't allowed to become soldiers (some save women to birth future generations crap, maybe), or it's a world in which humans are at war with other humans and stuff like that. Idk man, you can think whatever you want._


	7. Coffee version 1

Petra knows exactly how he likes his coffee.

Some people think he only drinks it black. They see him with a cup of the bitter stuff and they say, "Of course, he's humanity's strongest; he doesn't need sugar like the rest of us." They say, "He's a strange one, that Captain Levi; it's not surprising he likes his coffee dark." They say, "He probably drinks it like that because it's black just like his heart."

Others see him sometimes with cream and sugar swirled in it and they say, "Who knew humanity's strongest likes his coffee sweet?" They say, "At least he's normal in some regards." They say, "I wonder how much sugar he puts in it."

_(Levi says, shut the fuck up who gives a fuck anyway don't you all have something better to do with your lives than talk about how I drink my coffee you little shits)_

The truth is, Levi doesn't care. Coffee is coffee, and as long as it does its job of keeping him awake, it doesn't matter if it's more cream than coffee or more bitter than Auruo's I-just-bit-my-tongue expression.

It's always different when Petra makes it though. Sometimes she adds just a hint of honey and he finds it's exactly what he wants that morning, just the faintest trace of something sweet at the start of the day. Other times she brings him rich dark coffee and he finds the bitter taste is just the thing to keep him awake over his paperwork at night. Her coffee is different nearly every time, but every single cup brewed by her hands is perfect, and Levi thinks maybe Petra knows him better than he does himself.

The day after her death, he gets up before dawn and heads to the kitchen, taking over her job since she's not around to do it anymore. When he finally has a pot of the black liquid ready, he tries it only to find it tastes like shit. He rummages through the cupboards, finds the jar of sugar and the jar of honey and a jar of cold cream and milk too. He pours a cup of coffee, adds a pinch of sugar, tastes it, adds another pinch of sugar, tastes it again, then tries adding more. It's still not right, so he tries the honey instead, it's still not right, he puts a spoonful of cream in, it's still not right, he adds more, then more, then more, it's more cream than coffee now but it's _still not right_, he's making it worse, so he ends up dumping it all down the drain and boiling a pot of tea instead.

_(He can feel her breathing down his neck as he drinks it.)_


	8. Coffee version 2

It happens so quickly.

One moment she's carrying the tray with ease, balancing it in the palms of her hands as she smiles and chats with Eren, and next moment her grip has slipped and there are shards of ceramic on the ground and boiling hot coffee in Captain Levi's lap.

"I'm so sorry!" she cries, mortified, as Auruo, Erd, and Gunter turn to look at them in surprise. She glares at them when she hears a muffled snicker, and rushes to grab napkins from the table.

"I'll go get towels!" Eren declares, racing off. The door thunks shut behind him.

Petra can take pain; she has to, considering her job and all its occupational hazards, but she knows firsthand just how terrible burns can be. It's a good thing the standard soldiers' uniform pants are rather thick, but still, it must be painful for the captain, and she's pretty sure she just saw a grimace break through his usual expressionless façade.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she repeats, falling to her knees by his chair and practically dumping napkins onto his lap. There aren't enough to soak up all the liquid—when is Eren coming back with the towels?—but she tries anyway, patting him down with the flimsy linens.

"Petra."

"I don't know how it happened; I just got distracted when I was talking, I guess, and—"

"Petra."

"—I'll be more careful next time; I hope you didn't get burned, heichou, maybe you should check—"

_"Petra."_

"—I'm really sorry, I'll wash your pants for you; I think it's my turn to do laundry anyway—eek!"

He has one of her wrists in his hand, and he tugs on it, lightly. She looks down, confused… until it dawns on her that her other hand, napkin clenched in her fingers, is resting on a certain part of his anatomy. Her face flames tenfold.

Before she can pull away or apologize even more profusely, he leans forward, close enough that she can see the flecks of silver in his irises, close enough that his breath tickles her cheek, and says in a low voice, "If you wanted to touch it, you only had to ask."

She stares at him, brain unable to process what she just heard. Had he just—did he just—is he implying that—

Then she sees the faint glimmer in his eyes; others might easily overlook it but she knows him well enough to be able to tell: _Oh. He's joking._

She splutters incoherently anyway and can't bring herself to look him in the eye for the rest of the day.

* * *

_Rivetra Week Day 7: Reincarnation's prompt will be posted on my profile tomorrow. If I can finish it in time._


	9. Metaphors

Levi thinks metaphors are stupid.

Their world is fraught with danger; they live in the _here_ and the _now._ The words that matter are the ones that determine life or death: barked orders, warning shots, _six-meter class on the left_ and _your 3DMG needs to be repaired_; everything is literal, clear-cut, all about survival; there is no time for prose or poetry, the _flower of youth_ or the _fountain of life_.

Levi thinks metaphors are stupid, but if he had to use one, he would say Petra is fire.

Not honey, not sugar or cream or butter; she is sweet, honey and cream and butter are sweet, but she is not something that only treats the taste buds for one moment before melting and disappearing on the tongue.

No, Petra is fire; she is the sun, blazing bright in a world of darkness; she is a star in the night sky, lighting up everything around her; she is a brilliant spark of burning passion that will last far longer than anything sweet.

When he sees her body, broken and bloody and twisted against the tree, for one moment he thinks she is a fallen star, her light put out; the sun, rays dimmed; fire, flames gone; but then he blinks and she just looks dead.


	10. Devotion

Sometimes she thinks she's not willing to die for him.

It is only a fleeting thought that appears at the most random moments, when she is doing something tedious like mopping the floor, or in the middle of eating dinner with her squad, or lying in bed, preparing to sleep. It does not come often, but when it does, she immediately pushes it away, shoves it to the back corner of her mind because it's not right, she's being stupid; he handpicked her for his squad and he is her captain, she is his soldier; if he needs her to die for him then she will, without hesitation.

But she also remembers long nights spent talking with Hanji by the fireplace, or the many times she's teased Auruo mercilessly and then mopped up his blood with her handkerchief, or the smell of freshly baked bread in the air or the exhilarating rush of soaring through the skies on her 3DMG or the feel of snowflakes on her skin as the first snow of the winter sets in, powdery and sparkling and brilliant in the crisp, chilly air.

She remembers these things, and then she thinks of her captain, cold and stoic, scowling and caustic, sarcastic and foul-mouthed, never smiling, never pleased, and she wonders if she'd really be willing to trade everything for that.

And then the guilt settles in and she forces the thoughts away, because they're not right and she's being selfish; he does care for his soldiers, she knows it, she's seen it, and she trusts him, trusts him with her life, and he trusts them too, she knows he does, and her brain is stupid, selfish, traitorous for even thinking these thoughts.

The doubt never completely leaves her though; it attacks her at the most random times and she hates herself for it.

_I'm going to devote myself to him_, she writes to her father, and she tries to believe it.


	11. Yawn

_I totally copied this from myself. If I hadn't written the original drabble this would be blatant plagiarism. As it is I'm just unoriginal, recycling something I wrote years ago for Rivetra. Idk, it seemed to fit. -shrug-_

* * *

She is doing it again.

Levi watches her. Her hair is neatly parted and combed but still a bit frizzy in the back and there are creases in the collar of her shirt; her eyes are bleary and half-closed as she brings her hand from her mouth to rub at them. Her other hand clutches her coffee mug more tightly and she raises it to her lips; she meets his gaze over the rim of her cup.

"What is it, heichou?" she asks, and even her voice is fatigued.

_You look tired,_ he thinks. _You're usually quite awake in the mornings,_ he thinks. _You should get more rest,_ he thinks.

"Nothing," he says, and looks away.

Who knew a yawn could be so fascinating?


	12. Stars version 1

His first memory is of the night sky, of the wind ruffling his hair and the smell of garbage pervading the streets and his mother's touch on his hand, tugging him towards the open window and pointing to the stars above.

"In the past," she would tell him, "there were no walls, and many different kinds of people. They all had different names for the stars, and they would group them together—see that shape over there? The one that looks like a ladle? It's an asterism called many things: the Big Dipper, the Starry Plough, the Sapta Rishi."

"But why?" he'd want to know. "Can't they all just call it the same thing? Wouldn't it be confusing when they talk about it to each other?"

She would laugh, a light, gentle sound. "There were many, many more people back then than there are now," she'd say, "and they would live so far away from each other they wouldn't ever talk."

She would take his hand and raise it to the sky, tracing constellations with him, telling him stories, until his mind was filled with Orion and Gemini, Andromeda and Pegasus, rivers separating lovers and the tears of the gods.

It frustrates him that he can't quite remember her anymore, can't quite recall the exact color of her eyes or how they crinkled when she smiled or the soft sound of her voice. It frustrates him that every single person whose blood he's spilled, every single soldier he's failed to save, their faces haunt his memory, taunting and teasing and refusing to leave, but he cannot even remember the details of his own mother's face.

It annoys him that he can still point out the North Star wherever he is and tell stories of the goddess who fell in love with the shepherd, because those are the only memories he has left of his mother.

_The stars are everlasting_, she would say. _Yes, they may burn out eventually, but there will always be new ones._

Sometimes Levi thinks that applies to Titans too, and it infuriates him: no matter what he does, no matter how much blood is spilled and how many lives are taken, at the end of the day, when the sun goes down and the lights sprinkled across the sky come out, it still makes no difference.

Every night before he sleeps, he looks out his window and sees the pale glow of the moon, the soft luminescence of the stars, and he thinks they are the giants of the night, but at least they are harmless.

When he can't sleep, or he has too much work to do and wants to take a break, he will go outside and stand by the doorway, a cup of coffee or tea in hand, and let the cool night air refresh him, revitalize his senses and rejuvenate his spirit. He is proficient with the 3DMG, the wind always a blur in his face and a rush in his ears as he spirals through the skies, but that sensation is dulled by the constant blood and death that accompanies the usage of 3DMG. He much prefers to stand still and let the air move around him of its own accord.

Sometimes Petra joins him, standing by the doorway with her own hot drink and a mouth full of words. She usually chatters about the day, talks about something funny that Auruo did or some new finding of Hanji's. Sometimes she is silent, just content to stand there with him and enjoy the cool night air, but he finds he does not mind her company whether she is quiet or not; he never does.

"Hey, look," she says one night, pointing upwards. A glimmer of white streaks across the sky, a faint flash of movement in the otherwise still night. "My mother used to say if you wish on a shooting star, your wish will come true." Her smile is wistful, full of nostalgia. "What do you think?"

He hasn't spoken at all in the past half hour, and when he opens his mouth, his voice comes out slightly hoarse. "Sounds like bullshit to me."

He remembers too late that her mother is dead, and how would he feel if someone told him all his mother's stories about the constellations were bullshit?—but she only shrugs and crosses her arms.

"Can't hurt to try," she says, and closes her eyes.

Her face is so serene, so peaceful that for one moment, he almost finds himself believing in silly things like having hopes and dreams and wishing on stars too. When she opens her eyes again, there is a certain tranquility in her gaze, a certain content playing at the corners of her lips.

He takes a sip of his coffee only to find that it has gone cold; he grimaces and swallows. He only doesn't mind drinking bitter coffee when it is hot. She doesn't say anything and lets the silence surround them, a cool blanket of feather-light gazes and unspoken words.

"What did you wish for?" he finally asks.

She turns to him then, and something sparks in her eyes, something warm and bright and comforting, something like starlight. "I'll let you know if it comes true."

The night after she dies, after the remaining soldiers have returned home drenched in blood and pain and sorrow, he makes his way slowly outside and leans against the doorframe, twisting his mouth as he accidentally puts too much weight on his injured leg. He looks up at the sky, sees the North Star, sees the lovers separated by the river in the heavens, sees another faint gleam of white travel between the stars and he closes his eyes.

_("You were right, Petra," he says. "You were right.")_


	13. Doom

She looks perfectly cheerful, eyes shining and smile bright and eager to please, but the faint trembling in her hands as she sets the cup down before him gives her away. He picks it up and raises it to his mouth to take a sip, but pauses before drinking.

"Petra?"

"Y-yes, captain?"

She's skilled, has already killed a few Titans by herself and helped bring down many of them. She is quick and efficient with 3DMG, works well in a team, and he's seen her with her friends before, teasing and laughing loudly and generally not being shy. But now she is part of his squad, and she doesn't know him, only knows that he is humanity's strongest soldier and that he is her superior, her superior with the perpetual scowl on his face, and she is far too nervous around him for his comfort.

So he says, "Thank you," and takes a sip of the coffee she just brought him.

And promptly chokes. He coughs and splutters and tries not to spit it back out because it is quite possibly _the_ most disgusting thing he has ever tasted. He can drink purely black coffee, or coffee loaded with cream and sugar, or cold coffee left in the pot for two days—hell, he can even chew coffee beans, but he has no idea _what_ he just put in his mouth. It's boiling hot and much too milky, the taste of the coffee much too bland, and he can usually deal with that, but he has no idea what she was trying to do with the sugar and—good lord, is that _salt_ he tastes?

It's a good thing he's used to keeping his expression blank, because otherwise he would have probably scared his new squad member off by now. As it is, she only sees him coughing.

"Are you alright?" she cries. "I'm sorry, is it too hot or—?"

"It's fine," he says, forcing himself to swallow. He holds back a grimace and looks down at the deceptively normal-looking cup of coffee. "I just... drank it too fast."

"How is it?" she ventures.

She is still smiling, but it is tinged with an edge of nervousness, and he can hear the apprehension in her voice. She's only—what, eighteen or nineteen?—and she wanted to do something nice for her new squad leader, so she made and served him coffee. She probably just accidentally added salt to it in her anxiety or something.

So instead of saying what is going through his mind (three different variations of _what the hell did you put in this?_), he takes another sip, tries not to make a face as he forces it down, and says, "It's... good."

The smile on her face is genuine this time, and she looks so happy he thinks it might have been worth it after all. He just fervently hopes she doesn't try the same thing again anytime soon—

"I'm glad you like it, captain!" she says. "I'll make coffee for you tomorrow too!"

He stares down at his cup and wonders what he just doomed himself to.

* * *

_Sorry for the weird title; I had no idea what to call it. I just thought of this when I wondered if Petra's awesome coffee-making skills were canon._


	14. Heartbreak

_I deleted the last drabble/ficlet/chapter thing ("Words") and reposted it as a separate fic because my OCD insisted it didn't belong here due to its format. (I tried not to but my OCD won in the end. It always does; and I have way too many of them.) Which is why this is still Chapter 14._

_I wrote this two nights ago at 3 AM while half-asleep so it might not make much sense. Idk, let me know what you think?_

* * *

Levi does not know what heartbreak is.

It's a stupid term, really: a mash-up of two completely different words that have no business coming together. The human heart is fragile, yes; it is easily hurt, easily torn and crushed beneath giant fingers, smeared and trampled underfoot until it is just another unrecognizable part of the bloody decorations littering the ground; but it does not _break_. It tears, it rips, but there is no clean line that severs it in half, or thirds, or multitudes of little pieces; the human heart is a messy thing and Levi hates messes.

His heart has never broken before: he grew up with the feeling of it thumping harder in his chest whenever the Military Police passed by, speeding up and skipping beats whenever his acquaintances got a little too rough with their jobs, crawling up his throat and threatening to spill out whenever he had to stab his knife into someone else's. He is well acquainted with the workings of his heart, and he's certain it has never done anything more than that.

When he joins the Scouting Legion and fights Titans, spinning and slashing with deadly precision, often just centimeters away from being grabbed out of the air or bitten in half, he does not feel much either. His heart pounds harder, but that is simply because he is exerting himself physically. And when he sees all the dying soldiers and piles of bodies and thinks of all the giants that still roam free, it clenches so hard it feels like it might burst, but that is only another easily discernable emotion: anger.

Sometimes he thinks there is something wrong with his heart, though; it does the strangest things at the most random times. Maybe his heart is defective because it does not feel things like everyone else's, but starts twitching or stuttering or even stopping in his chest for no good reason at the smallest things: the light brush of skin against his knuckles as Petra hands him a cup of coffee in the mornings; the rays of the sun in her hair and eyes, turning them golden as she smiles, like she is beaming with her very soul; the way his name sounds on her lips, not _sir_ or _captain_ but _Levi_, two soft syllables that somehow steal his breath and still his heart.

Even when he sees them, smashed limbs and cracked bones and shattered angles, his heart does not break. Even when he sees her crushed against a tree, blood painting her face like a gruesome blush that has spilled out of her cheeks, his heart only lurches before he steels it and moves on. Even when he sees her body thrown off the cart, the light catching her hair one last time; when he hands over her patch, the last and only piece of her he owned; when her father approaches him, oblivious, smiling despite the thick gloom in the air and babbling about marriage, his heart stays firmly together.

It isn't until the next day, when he wakes up in the morning and goes downstairs only to find a cold, empty stove and a silent, dark room, that he feels a corner of his heart splinter. It isn't until he thinks about ordering another cleanup of the entire building before remembering he is the only one around to do it that another corner of his heart withers and snaps off. It isn't until he goes to the training grounds alone and realizes he can no longer practice formations, until he opens his mouth to ask a question of someone who is not there, until he hears voices whispering and laughing just ahead and hurries around the corner only to find it is the wind, that he feels his heart start to fracture, fissures springing up in spotty trails all over that weak all-too-human appendage.

Levi does not know what heartbreak is, but if he had to guess, he would think it is something like this.


	15. Coffee Shop

_A/N: Lately all my brain has been wanting to do is write angst so I forced myself to write something fluffy. If this can be considered fluffy; at any rate, it's not angsty._

* * *

Sometimes Levi thinks he is a pushover.

Anyone who knows him will vehemently deny this: he's _Levi_, the perpetual grump, the uncharitable ass, the foul-mouthed clean freak who surprised everyone (including himself) by somehow passing all his classes and actually getting into college; "pushover" is not a word that is ever used to describe him.

Yet he can think of no other word to explain why he is letting Hanji drag him into a coffee shop of all places when he _hates_ coffee.

It's a small place not too far from campus, nestled on the corner of a small street filled with convenience stores and pizza joints. Most of the regulars are college students with boatloads of homework, and the shop is filled with the sound of keyboards clicking and phones beeping with text messages.

"I can't believe you've never been here," Hanji is saying as she drags Levi up to the counter; there is a small queue of people waiting to order. "In fact, I can't believe you don't like coffee. How the hell did you survive finals last year?"

"Sleep is for the weak," he tells her, deadpan, and she snorts.

"Seriously though, I swear you're going to like the coffee here. You probably just always ordered the worst kind whenever you had it before. I'll order for you—and don't you dare open your mouth, Levi; you just let me do the talking. You'd probably say something stupid that'll make the girl put salt in your drink."

He scowls—partly because the comment was unnecessary and partly because it's true—and debates the merits of flipping her off before deciding against it. Last time he did (two days ago) she took his finger and cracked his knuckle, something he hates.

They reach the front of the line in no time and Hanji orders, saying something about "grand" and "latte" for herself and "medium" something for him. Levi doesn't know anything about coffee; he just knows that instant coffee is nasty, Starbucks coffee is nasty, and all his attempts to brew coffee before have all turned out nasty.

The guy taking their orders calls them out, takes Hanji's money, and points her to the end of the counter to wait. Levi drags his feet as he follows, digging his fingers into the polished wood of the countertop just because he can.

Hanji pulls out her phone and starts texting someone—probably Erwin; the two of them have been nauseating for the past few months—leaving Levi to look around the shop in boredom as they wait. He recognizes some of the faces, but since he is about as social as Hanji is stupid, he doesn't know anyone's names.

Something copper flashes in the corner of his vision and he turns to watch the people behind the counter work. There is a dark-haired young man and a girl with bright hair; it is the girl's hair that caught his eye. It is short, unpinned and falling into her eyes as she works at the blender, bright and layered with strands of gold.

She looks completely unfamiliar, but Levi somehow can't tear his eyes away from the back of her head. Maybe she's in one of his classes or something—

She turns then, and he realizes how long he must have spent just staring at her. She looks startled for a moment and then she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"'Levi'?" she reads off the cup in her hands.

He nods and she hands it to him; their fingers brush and he has to force himself not to twitch. He hates physical contact as much as he hates coffee, but her skin is soft and not unpleasant.

"Enjoy," she says with another smile, and then turns back to work on the next order.

The other guy brings Hanji's drink and she grabs Levi's arm and pulls him towards a small table in the corner. He sits down and looks at the cup in his hands, frowning.

"Drink up, old man," Hanji tells him, taking a sip of her own coffee and smacking her lips. "Ah, this is the stuff. Brewed to perfection and—you can't just will it into your stomach by staring at it, you know."

"Shut up," he says halfheartedly, and takes a sip.

And another. And then another. It is iced coffee, cold and rather refreshing on this warm spring day, and it is still undeniably _coffee_, but somehow the flavor is made just right by the cream—not too much, not too little—and it is not too sweet, yet not too bitter, and—

"You _like _it," Hanji says gleefully. "I _told_ you you'd like it."

Because he is Levi, he cannot admit she was right, so he only tries to kick her under the table (he misses) and drinks some more. Maybe he's just had shit coffee before all his life, because there is no way this drink and all the other drinks called "coffee" he's had in the past can be related in any way. Yes, he does like it, very much, and if _this_ is what coffee is supposed to taste like, then he can no longer go around saying he hates it.

It's not like he's only had it once before in his life, and this is the only time he has liked it. The girl who made it must be very skilled.

As if reading his thoughts, Hanji says, "Isn't Petra awesome? She's the girl who made your—oh, she's looking at you now."

Levi glances over his shoulder to see the girl—Petra—indeed looking his way, her eyes contemplative. She blinks when she sees him looking back, then smiles—her smile really is nice, warm and cheerful—and shrugs, gesturing at his cup in the universal sign for _how is it?_

He wants to nod, nod quickly and turn away, but her eyes are bright and expectant and for some reason he doesn't want to disappoint her, so he does something he doesn't think he's ever done before: he gives her a thumbs up sign and tries to smile in approval.

Petra beams and her smile widens; Hanji chokes on her coffee. He turns away from Petra to wordlessly hand Hanji a napkin from the dispenser on the table.

After she has finally stopped coughing and spluttering, she takes a deep breath and then leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, "Hey, Levi. I think she's single."

His foot connects solidly with her shin this time.

* * *

_Hanji calls Levi old man because he acts like one. I can totally see him chasing kids off his yard while swearing and waving a cane around._

_____Coffee shop cliché, whoo. There are so many of these in the OTPs of both my main fandoms. I think Levi would be either a really good student or a really bad student; there is no in-between (he's a weird little shit). BTW, I love coffee. Coffee helps me survive. Coffee is my life._

_____God this is so cheesy, idek; crap title because I fail._


	16. Old Rivetra AU

_A/N: Here, have something cute (is this even cute? it's probably just lame and cheesy) after that last… not-cute thing I wrote. Which was posted on my profile instead of here like I'd originally planned because it got too long for this collection._

_Idea comes from "spewing rainbows" guest reviewer; thanks for the suggestion!_

* * *

For the most part, Eren quite liked his neighbors.

There was Armin, of course, his best friend, who lived just two houses down the street in the white-shingled raised ranch with the giant oak tree in the front yard. The two boys would often climb that tree—well, Eren would climb it while Armin alternated between reading a book and yelling at him to be careful—pretending to be explorers; there was one particular branch Eren liked to think of as the crow's nest of his tree-ship, which he'd dubbed the S.S. Titan-Killer (the name sounded awe-inspiring to his eight-year-old ears).

Then there was Mikasa, his other best friend, who lived just across the street in a red brick sidesplit; he'd met her when he stood up to bullies to defend her a year ago. They'd taken the bullies down together and had become steadfast friends ever since.

There was also Sasha, a funny girl he sat with at school who would often sneak him snacks under the desk; Marco, a nice boy who helped him with his math homework sometimes; Christa, a sweet girl whose parents gave out the best Halloween candy every year, the only girl all the boys in his class agreed didn't have cooties.

There were so many kids who lived on his street and Eren was friends with all of them—well, maybe not Jean; Jean was a stupid horse-face—but for the most part, he felt quite comfortable in his neighborhood, and would spend his afternoons running around freely and playing, and almost nobody minded.

There was only one house Eren tried to avoid: the yellow-painted New England colonial on the corner.

It was home to an elderly couple whose kids were grown-ups already. Petra—she'd insisted the kids call her that and not "Mrs. Ral"—was a warm, kind woman, and Eren thought she was still pretty despite the gray streaked through her hair and the lines on her face. She was always up early in the mornings, sitting on her front porch with a cup of tea, and she would wave good-bye at the kids when they ran to the school bus stop every weekday morning. She gave out the second-best Halloween candy after Christa's parents, she had the prettiest flowers growing along the steps leading up to her house, and she had the most wonderful stories to tell and the best-tasting cookies ever.

Eren liked Petra very much; he had no problems with her. It was her husband he was afraid of.

Mr. Levi made Eren think of Scrooge from that Christmas carol play thing his parents had taken him to last year—which was funny, because apparently Mr. Levi's birthday was on Christmas. The old man had absolutely no holiday cheer (or any cheer at all, really) though; Eren had never seen him with anything other than a scowl on his face. He was constantly grumpy and constantly yelling at the kids when they so much as disturbed one blade of grass on his perfectly manicured front lawn.

Eren's mother had told him Mr. Levi was a very nice and honorable old man who'd fought for their country in two wars and retired from a respectable job, but Eren just thought he was about as nice as Jean was whenever the fair-haired boy got called a horse. To his face. Eren had no idea why such a nice woman like Petra would have married such a crotchety man like Mr. Levi.

The problem was, the school bus stop was just around the corner of their house, and sometimes when he was running late, it was much easier to just run through the Rals' front yard than stay on the sidewalk, wasting extra steps.

He tried not to, he really did, but sometimes he just forgot too, and when he got off the bus in the afternoons, he would be so excited to be out of school that he often just ran home, completely failing to remember how annoyed Mr. Levi got whenever kids trampled across his lawn.

This particular afternoon was no exception. Eren was more excited than usual to be home that day—his favorite cartoon was going to be playing at four and the teacher hadn't given them any reading problems (much to Armin's chagrin). He jumped off the bus and started running, waving his arms around in the air and whooping.

"Come on, Armin! I'll race you!" he shouted. He didn't say Mikasa because she would be right beside him as usual; she let him win all their races anyway (he knew she'd win if she tried).

"Wait, Eren," Armin said, frowning. "Don't forget to stay on the sidewalk—"

Eren didn't hear him. The weather was great; the sun was not too hot but shone brightly down on the world, making the sky a more vivid blue and the grass a deeper green. There was a light breeze blowing and the smell of honeysuckle filled the air, a soft and pleasant aroma. It was such a nice day, the kind of lazy afternoon when he could just play outside until evening, or do his homework on the front porch as his mom cooked dinner, or even just lie around on the grass outside his house and look for patterns in the clouds—

"Oi, brat! What are you doing in my yard?"

Eren froze and looked up, brought out of his musings to realize he was right in the middle of the Rals' front lawn, his feet sunk deep in the grass. Muddy footprints were clear behind him where he'd run across the yard, wrecking the neatly trimmed shape of the verdure.

"I'm sorry, sir!" Armin cried from the sidewalk, panting, where he'd run to catch up. "Eren didn't mean to; he just forgot again, sir!"

Eren thought Armin was laying it on a bit thick with the whole _sir_ thing, but maybe it would help because Mr. Levi used to be a military man. Mikasa stood by Armin, her red scarf rustling in the wind, her expression slightly chastising as she looked at Eren.

"He forgot _again_?" Mr. Levi snapped. He stood in the doorway of his house, his expression thunderous as usual, hands resting on the doorframe for support. "Do you know how long it takes to clean the yard, especially at my age? The little shits at the landscaping company don't know how to do it right—"

Eren, Mikasa, and Armin gasped simultaneously—_Mr. Levi just said the s-word!_—but before the tirade continued, a hand walloped the old man on the head and a new figure appeared in the doorway.

"Levi, no swearing in front of the kids," Petra said, a firm reprimand in her tone.

He scowled at her and she frowned back, staring straight into his eyes. There seemed to be some sort of silent conversation going on before he looked away from his wife with a huff.

Petra smiled, clearly having won whatever argument they'd just had, and turned to the kids, who still stood there staring. She opened the front door more widely and the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted from the doorway, making Eren's mouth water and his stomach grumble. It had been a few hours since lunch, after all…

"Would you like to come in for some milk and cookies?"

* * *

"You baby them too much," Levi grumbled. "They're going to take this as an excuse to run all over the yard now."

"Oh, stop being such a cantankerous old man," Petra said with a laugh. "They're just kids. Don't you remember what it was like to be a kid? You always had a sharp memory."

Levi scowled some more, because he _did_ remember, and he'd been a much more troublesome boy than the Jaeger one, but even after decades and decades of life he still hated admitting he was wrong about anything.

Petra smiled fondly at him as she turned off the tap water, letting the empty cookie tray soak in the sink, and joined him on the couch. She rested her hands on her knees and leaned back with a sigh, settling into the soft plush of the sofa.

"You should sleep in more," he told her. "Stop getting up so early in the mornings and rest."

She shook her head. "I've always loved watching the sunrises, and that'll never change. Remember the one above the Grand Canyon we saw in '93? That was beautiful."

He remembered, but mostly he just remembered the way the golden rays of the sun shone in her hair, lighting up her eyes and her face, and how tired he'd been when driving back home the next day because he'd slept so little.

"I'll rest now though," she said; she turned her head a little to lay it on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

He put his hand on hers and watched the warm afternoon sunlight filter through the windows, illuminating the room and brightening his wife's hair. He put his other hand on his lap and leaned back too, closing his eyes, and soon he drifted off to sleep as well, all thoughts of annoying little brats and messy lawns forgotten.


	17. Stars version 2

_____This is probably the most unoriginal thing ever._

_Anonymous review replies (which I usually never do because I'm a lazy bum):_

_ coffeeandletters: I'll write your idea sometime! I'm not sure when, but I will. Sometime._

_ spewing rainbows: I'm glad you liked it! :)_

* * *

He's always thought so, but her hair really is lovely, gleaming gold and amber in the pale sunlight drifting through the wooden beams of the wedding chapel high above their heads. He wants to touch her hair, feel its silky strands through his fingers, tuck it behind her ear so he can see that adorable little scar she has at the edge of her jaw.

Her eyes are lidded, her mouth slightly parted as she looks at him, and he wants to kiss her already, get the whole damn ceremony over with, because the formalities aren't important at all, what's important is that they can be together, and he can't wait for all this to be over so they can just go _home_.

She's crying in joy, tears leaking from her eyes, her nose, her mouth, dribbling down her face and into her hair, and he wants to wipe them away, gather her in his arms and tell her she doesn't have to cry anymore, they're finally married, and she will press herself to his chest, lean her head back to look him in the eyes, and he won't have to say it because she knows he loves her and always will.

And then the stars fade from his eyes and he shoots his hooks into the next tree over, tearing his gaze away from the corpse at his feet.


	18. Coffee Shop Conversations

_A/N: I've been in the mood for Rivetra modern AUs recently (there are so freaking many of them in my brain it's pathetic), so here's a continuation of the coffee shop AU __because I felt like writing more awkward-loser!Levi. This can be read by itself though._

* * *

He's here again.

Petra smiles to herself as she checks the blender, sneaking a peek at him from behind a curtain of hair. He's sitting at the same corner table he always sits at, textbooks spread open, brow furrowed, earphones plugged in, an iced coffee by his right hand as he scrawls notes in his binder.

She's never seen him before until recently, about a week ago. He showed up with Hanji Zoe—president of the biology club, three-time first-prize winner of the university's science fair, girlfriend of last year's valedictorian Erwin Smith—and since then, she's seen him sitting at that table nearly every day, studying alone.

Petra would consider herself relatively social; she's definitely not a party girl but she's been to her fair share of them, and she usually recognizes most of the faces she sees around campus and in the coffee shop. She's never seen this particular face before though, not until he started doing his homework here almost every afternoon.

There's something intriguing about him, something that sparks her curiosity and makes her wonder sometimes what his favorite band is, or what the numbers scrawled on the backs of his hands mean, or why he never came here before if he likes iced coffee so much (it's what he orders every time, his voice gruff and abrupt, his eyes firmly fixed on the counter as he takes the drink from her, their fingertips always brushing).

Petra thinks he's probably good-looking, with nicely symmetrical features and well-kept hair, but he always has an unpleasant expression stuck on his face, somewhere between a scowl and a glare. He never looks her in the eye or says thank you when she hands him his order, but he _did_ give her an indication that he likes her coffee before, so she supposes even if he is emotionally constipated, he's not too bad.

Business is relatively slow this afternoon; it's Friday, which means most students are going to be forgetting about studying until Sunday evening. The shop is quieter than usual, no one currently in line, only a few people sitting around tapping away at their keyboards or scratching away at papers. Petra's shift just started, so she leans her elbows on the countertop and sighs in boredom.

"You're not complaining about not having work to do, are you?" Gunter, her fellow employee, asks. "You're usually complaining about there being _too much_ work." He is flipping through messages on his phone, though, so she sticks her tongue out at him.

"_I _for one don't mind," Auruo says from his spot by the register. "I can just relax, baby, and get paid for it anyway."

"You're just glad you don't have to worry about biting your tongue and scaring the customers like you did that other day in front of that hot girl," Erd points out from the other register.

Auruo sputters in protest and Petra laughs with the rest of them, enjoying the banter between her new friends. Getting a job at this coffee shop was one of the best decisions she's ever made; she loves Gunter, Erd, and Auruo to death already and the money from her work will definitely help her in the future.

She finds her gaze drawn to the dark-haired guy sitting in the corner again; maybe it's just her imagination but she thinks his eyes flicker towards her for a moment before settling back onto his textbook. She turns back to her friends and leans forward a bit, lowering her voice.

"Do any of you know that guy? He just suddenly started showing up last week."

Erd snorts. "That's Levi. He's in my French class. Sleeps the whole time but gets top marks anyway."

"That's because he _speaks_ French," Auruo says.

"Oh right, and Auruo's a fanboy of his."

"I am _not_," Auruo objects, but Petra looks between him and the iced coffee guy—Levi—and mock gasps.

"Don't tell me that's why you cut your hair the other day!"

"You're right," Gunter says, looking up from his phone to peer at the two of them. "Auruo's new haircut is suspiciously similar to that guy's."

"He wanted to make a statement," Erd says, grabbing Auruo's hand when the sandy-haired boy flips him off. "He admires Levi's 'rebellious nature' or whatever and is now trying to imitate it. See this?" He holds up Auruo's middle finger. "Classic Levi move."

Auruo finally gets his hand free and scowls at them as they snicker. "Shut up."

"Classic Levi move, huh?" Levi shifts a bit in his seat and she tries to speak more softly, lest he can hear them. He's all the way on the other side of the shop, but still…

"Do you know him well?"

Erd shakes his head. "His habits are pretty easy to track though. He shows up late to class if he shows up at all and sleeps through everything. And he swears a lot."

"How does he know Hanji Zoe of all people? They came together last week."

"I think they're childhood friends," Gunter says. "Along with Erwin Smith."

"And you know this because…"

Gunter waves his phone around for a moment. "Facebook."

"Ah. I should get one."

"You should, baby," Auruo agrees. "Then we can talk."

Petra rolls her eyes at him and glances at the clock. It's barely five in the afternoon and she doesn't see anyone standing around on the sidewalk outside like they might come in. The people in the coffee shop seem to be in no hurry to leave, but no one looks ready to order again anytime soon. Her friends can do without her for a few minutes.

"Where are you going?" Gunter asks as she slips out from behind the counter.

"Going to say hi. Be right back."

"You're not supposed to _fraternize with the customers_," Erd says in his best stern voice, but Petra ignores him.

"Relax, Gin; I got this covered."

She approaches the corner table slowly, her footsteps loud enough so Levi can definitely tell she's coming. He knows, she can tell by the way his neck seems to stiffen and his fingers curl more tightly around his pen, but he doesn't look up until she's standing by his chair, and even then his gaze is trained on her neck, not her face. She tries not to sigh.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asks, gesturing at the empty seat across from him.

He shakes his head, a quick, jerky motion, and she pulls the chair out from under the table and seats herself. His homework is spread all the way to her end of the table—she sees graphs and charts and numbers and makes a face.

"Is that econ?"

He nods.

"Is that your major?"

He nods again. He still hasn't looked at her yet and she holds back another sigh; it can't be that hard to say something, can it?

"I'm Petra," she says when he doesn't do anything else. His pen has stopped moving and he just stares down at the table, shoulders stiff.

He clears his throat; when he speaks, his voice is still somewhat hoarse. "I know."

She raises her eyebrows at him and he finally meets her gaze. His eyes are startlingly pale. "I mean… Hanji told me."

"Oh," she says, hiding a smile. She doesn't know if he asked or not, but she finds his quick assurance somewhat endearing. He looks like he wants to add something else, but then he drops his eyes back to his fingers and starts twirling his pen around.

She can feel Erd, Auruo, and Gunter watching them from the counter, no doubt curious to see how the apparently infamous Levi will react to her "charms," as they've dubbed her personality. She tries to ignore them.

"So… you like coffee?" she says when it's clear he's not going to say anything else.

"No," he says immediately. "I hate coffee."

She furrows her brow. "But you're in a coffee shop."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I mean… I always thought I did, but… this coffee… isn't too bad."

She beams; she _loves_ coffee and hearing that she converted a coffee-hater will always make her proud. "Thank you! I'm glad you like it."

His eyes meet hers again and there is something inquisitive in them, something warm maybe, a glimmer of interest, but then he looks away again. "Yeah," he mutters.

She does heave a sigh this time, because even she can't seem to bring him out of whatever shell he's cocooned himself in, and the bells on the door jingle at that moment, alerting her of new customers in the shop. She might as well get back to work. He doesn't strike her as the particularly rebellious type though; he just seems shy. Shy and unused to normal human interaction.

"I should probably go now," she says, standing up. "Hope you enjoy the rest of the coffee."

She turns to leave, but the sound of his voice stops her. "Petra?"

She blinks, surprised that he's initiating conversation _now_. And when she's about to leave, too. "Yeah?"

He does look her straight in the eyes this time, and she could swear there is a faint smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "You _should_ get a Facebook."

It takes her a moment to understand, and when she does, she feels her face flush scarlet. "Ah… okay," she says lamely, and then she hurries away from his table, wondering why _she's_ the one left blushing when he's the insanely awkward one.

"What'd he say to you?" Gunter whispers as she ducks back behind the counter. "You're turning red."

"Nothing," she says quickly. "It's nothing."

Levi gathers up his things and leaves as she starts blending the drink for the next order, and she can't stop herself from glancing up at him as he pushes the door open, sending a cool breeze blowing through the room. He looks over his shoulder and catches her gaze, and then he nods once before disappearing through the door.

She finds herself unconsciously waving back, even though he's gone already. She blinks for a moment and then forces her mind back to the beverage she's making, but she can feel a smile starting to creep over her face of its own accord.

Huh. Maybe she _will_ get a Facebook.


	19. A New Year

_coffeeandletters: I started your request but it's not working out too well right now so I'll try again later? Haha sorry._

_spewing rainbows: I think Levi would either be a great student or a terrible one! I can see him as both. Depends on his AU background._

_Also! You may be interested to know that someone on tumblr wanted old!Rivetra AU headcanons, and I ended up writing like... idk how many words it is. Anyway, link's on my profile for random Rivetra headcanons (mostly AUs) if anyone wants to see. There are music AU (the fics are on my profile) and coffee shop AU headcanons too._

* * *

"Do you have any resolutions for the new year?"

He scoffs as he raises the bottle to his lips again; the amber liquid burns going down his throat. "What's the point? A new year isn't any better than the last—should we celebrate that we get to live just a little longer before the Titans eat us anyway?"

"Come on," she chides, trying to tug the bottle out of his hands, but he pulls it back and glares until she relents and lets go. "I came because I thought you were drinking to celebrate, not to wallow in misery. Alcohol doesn't usually affect you like this, does it?"

He doesn't say anything, just takes another swig. She sighs and crosses her arms, leaning back against the table to regard him with disappointment in her eyes.

"Remember last year?" she says. "We drank too, but you were happier then. We toasted the new year and made resolutions. Do you remember yours?"

"Yeah," he mutters into his drink. "Don't die."

"A very practical resolution," she says, smiling at him. The light in her eyes starts to fade a bit as her smile turns sad and she walks a few steps to stand next to him, where he is hunched over in his chair. She leans forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and her body heat sends waves of warmth through him.

"Do you remember mine?" she whispers, her breath ghosting across his ear.

"Yeah," he says, shutting his eyes, "but yours didn't happen."

When he finally opens his eyes again, she is gone, the only sign of her a cold breeze blowing through the crack in the window on the far side of the room. The lamp flickers a little, dimming and brightening once again, and for a moment Levi can almost see her in the glowing orange shadows on the walls.

"Happy New Year, Petra," he says, raising his bottle to her, but even as he drinks he can't help thinking this year will be anything but happy if she's not in it.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry, this is wayyyy overdone but I really wanted to do it anyway. I'm also posting a happier New Year's fic on my profile, so there's that? It was originally written for this collection but it got kind of long, so yeah._


	20. Prince

_A/N: I wanted to write something non-AU and a friend suggested the prompt "fairy tale romance." And now I have like four different ideas in my head (and two of them are AU, welp) so here's the shortest one._

* * *

Petra doesn't want a fairy-tale romance.

She may have when she was young, just a little girl with dreams in her heart and stars in her eyes, eagerly listening to and craving more of her mother's stories: stories about talking animals and magic and wicked sorcerers and dashing princes come to rescue their princesses. Her mother was full of stories, stories that enchanted her, stories that made her imagination run wild, stories that thrilled her heart—stories that her mother whispered she couldn't tell anyone, because they weren't allowed, and Petra didn't understand, but she promised not to repeat any of them and she always kept her promise.

When her mother died, when nothing she did could help her father, when the Titans broke through the walls, she abandoned her vain hopes and foolish dreams, knowing they were as impractical as expecting to live to a ripe old age. There was no such thing as a good-luck potion to make all their problems go away, or a spell that could make the Titans disappear, or a handsome prince who could rescue them all. There was only reality, and she had to face it.

Her silly wishes died along with her mother, and Petra grew up. She learned how to fight back, how to defend herself so that no one had to do it for her, how to protect what she loved because she was the only one who could. She forgot about magic spells and princes and a true love's kiss that could save everything.

Sometimes, though, when she lies awake in bed at night, she will remember little fragments of her mother's stories, just bits and pieces, an enchanted sword here, a talking frog there. They no longer mean anything to her, but sometimes she cannot help wondering: are any of them real?

Of course the cats she passes in the street will not start conversing with her, and the wrinkled old crone who sells hats in the marketplace near her house will not offer her three wishes for her firstborn child, but surely some parts of the stories have a grain of truth—maybe she is being a silly little girl again, but surely there are hidden princes out there, brave and loyal and chivalrous, willing to risk their lives for a good cause.

And then she feels stupid for the thought, because there are plenty of brave young men and women—including her, really—risking their lives every day for an excellent cause, for _humanity_, but sometimes she still cannot help daydreaming anyway. Her childhood was snatched from her at too young an age, and she will let herself indulge sometimes.

But she doesn't want a prince with the wings of freedom emblazed on his back and 3DMG strapped to his thighs, a prince with pretty hair and pretty words, all of it meaningless once he disappears down a Titan's throat; she doesn't want a prince from the old stories either, a prince with a swift horse and a dashing cape and a gleaming silver sword in one hand, ready to shield her from things she can deal with herself.

No, Petra doesn't want a prince at all, which is perhaps why she finds Levi so fascinating.

There is absolutely nothing he says that can be considered "pretty"—he is terse and stoic, his words halting and forceful, his jokes terrible and crude; his emotions are never found on his face or in his voice and he constantly looks angry; but he never has to speak when his blades do it for him, slashing and whirling and slicing Titan flesh, killing and maiming so that humanity's presence can linger a little longer in this world.

He is short, short enough that he does not swing onto his horse easily like a prince should; despite how much he polishes them, his blades are forever stained with blood; she wears the same cape as he does, the symbol of the Legion proudly displayed for all to see; and Petra is perfectly fine with that.

Because Petra doesn't want a fairy-tale romance; she wants Levi and all of his abrupt ways, his unpleasant expressions, even his rude words; she wants the soft brush of his hand in the mornings and the gentle caress of her name in his voice, she wants the dirt and sweat and exhaustion of a day of grueling training settling in her bones, she wants the satisfaction and pride of hearing him say "Good job" just once every day.

Petra doesn't want a fairy-tale romance, she wants Levi, and she'll take what she can get.


	21. Distraction

_A/N: Because I should write more non-angst canon stuff._

* * *

He should really be at his desk.

He isn't just writing any old letter—this is to _Darius Zackly_, head of all three military branches. Levi normally has no occasion to say anything whatsoever to the man, but Erwin is really pushing for more funding, something about updated gear, and apparently having humanity's best user of said gear vouch for his case will help.

So Levi finds himself staring blankly at his paper, wondering how the hell he's supposed to start writing _this_ letter, and Petra is not helping at all.

"Can you move your head?" he says when he tries for the fifth time and fails to form a proper word on the parchment, because his pen keeps getting caught in her hair.

She inches her head perhaps two centimeters forward—and further under his chin. "Is that better?"

She's smiling—he can feel the twitch of her lips against his collarbone. "No," he snaps, but his voice comes out less gruffly than he intended as she curls more tightly around his left arm. It's starting to go numb, but he can't bring himself to move it.

"Mmm," she sighs happily, wrapping her arms around his waist and closing her eyes in contentment. Her eyelashes tickle his neck and he coughs, the movement of his throat further pressing into her hair.

He puts his pen to the paper just as she shifts against his arm, jolting his hand and turning the word into a messy scribble. "Fuck," he mutters, and tries to flip to a new page, but Petra's head—arms—body—whatever—is in the way. "Can you just _move_?"

She peers up at him from where she lies on his bed, firmly latched onto his side. "I'll just leave then?"

Her presence is comforting, so nice and warm that he doesn't even think before responding. "No, never mind."

She smirks and snuggles more closely against him and he resigns himself to getting nothing done that night. Again.


	22. Heist AU version 2 part 2

_A/N: Continuation of the second version of the heist AU (with Petra as an Interpol officer) by request. Just warning you, this is quite possibly the most clichéd thing I have ever written, and considering all the crap I've posted in the past few months, that's saying a lot. Also, I know absolutely nothing about international crime and law enforcement or train stations in France or French, haha, can you tell? (Those four years I took in grade school did absolutely nothing for me.)_

_This is kinda long, but posting it separately would be too confusing so whatever._

* * *

Everything was in place.

There were pairs of plainclothesmen posted all around the train station, in every terminal, by every ticket booth, at every exit. Gunter Schulz had gotten on one of the lines at Rouen three hours ago and was very likely no more than two cars away from their infamous thief. Petra had a map of the station memorized—she'd spent hours studying it and the train schedules, making sure she knew the name of every rail, every arrival and departure time that day, every hidden security camera location. She was connected by radio to every single officer in the building, and they would all inform her immediately if they saw anything.

Levi was _not_ getting away this time.

They'd gotten an anonymous tip from somewhere in Switzerland two weeks ago, informing them about a trade-off that was going to happen in one of France's biggest train stations on this day. Petra and her faithful team had looked into it, desperate for any new signs of Levi's trail—and the information had seemed to check out. Considering the nature of the most recently vanished item from a curator's world-famous collection—a multi-million dollar bracelet—and the fact that Levi was supposed to be meeting a woman, the team had decided this was one of the best leads they'd gotten in months and put all their effort into making sure nothing would go awry this time.

_This time, _Petra thought, fiddling with her earpiece as static crackled in her ear, _you're not slipping away, Levi. I'm going to make sure of it._

"Ral," Erd said, the distance between their radios distorting his voice. "Ral, can you hear me?"

It took Petra a moment to realize he was talking to her—her last name was probably for the benefit of the multitudes of other lower-ranked officers also on the line. "Yes, Gin. Where are you right now?"

"By the entrance to Terminal B. A train just came in and people are getting off—no sign of her yet."

Petra wished they had more information about the woman who was supposed to be meeting with Levi, but all she knew for sure was that the woman was young and European, most likely German or Swedish due to the countries Levi had been in contact with recently. It would be difficult to pick her out amongst the busy crowds when they knew so little about her, when nearly a fourth of the people matched her description, but Erd wasn't considered to have the sharpest eyes in all the neighboring precincts for nothing. He could notice the most minute details, read the subtlest body language better than anyone Petra knew.

And they would need it; they hadn't gotten such a good lead on Levi in months now. Even before Petra had actually met the man, they'd been having trouble with all the cases surrounding him.

Thinking about the encounter still infuriated her sometimes, sparked a swell of anger in her chest, a rush of indignation in her blood. She still remembered every detail of him as clearly as if she'd just seen him—his shiny designer shoes, his perfectly folded collar, the irritating smooth tenor of his voice, that annoying smirk on his admittedly handsome face she wanted to wipe off with her fist.

"It's been over a year, Mr. Levi," she muttered to herself, "and I swear, we're finally going to take you down."

Her earpiece crackled again; it was Auruo's voice that sounded this time. "Pardon, Ral?"

"Nothing, Bossard," she said, shaking her head, fighting off a wave of irritation at herself for always becoming irrational where the stupid thief was concerned. "Keep your eyes and ears open."

Petra stood outside the central terminal of the station just a few feet away from one of the ticket counters, loitering by the benches like one of many other people waiting for their trains. She glanced around quickly to make sure her outfit was not too conspicuous: gray slacks, a lavender blouse, and a black trenchcoat—yes, similar outfits were commonly seen at this time of the year in France; she should be okay.

She checked the time on her watch and then looked up at one of the clocks hanging on the wall; her time was correct. His train should be coming in five minutes or so, and as for the woman…

"Gin," she murmured, pulling out her cell phone and holding it to her ear so it wouldn't look like she was talking to herself. "Any sign yet?"

He didn't respond immediately and she sighed, shifting from one foot to the other and trying not to feel too antsy. Looking restless was normal for people waiting for trains, but _too_ restless wasn't good either. It was all about subtlety and stealth—which Levi was a master at.

Erd finally answered, his voice popping with little bursts of static. "No sign yet."

The next five minutes seemed to pass by in an eternity; Petra nearly started pacing before remembering she wasn't in her office anymore. She walked between the benches to reach an information desk, where she plucked a listing of train schedules from a stack, scanning it for something to do despite having all the information already committed to memory. She sat down for a while and took out her phone, pretending to type a message, but really she was listening to the quiet conversations going on in her earpiece. No one had yet to spot anything suspicious.

She watched the time tick away in the last few minutes, standing up when there was only one minute left. The constantly-changing electronic train schedules high above her head flashed, and she looked up to see the status of the train with Levi and Gunter on it change to "arrivé." Her French had always been rusty no matter how much time she spent in France, but even she could tell what that meant.

"Schulz," she said. "Schulz, can you hear me?"

She could feel the tension in the air, the surge of anticipation, the charge of expectation crackling through the line. If she were to be completely honest with herself, this was probably half the reason she'd become a law enforcement agent in the first place—she'd wanted to bring criminals to justice, of course, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't find something thrilling about the chase too.

Gunter's voice finally came through her earpiece, tinny and far away but undeniably him. "Yes, Ral. Levi just got off the train; he hasn't seen me. He's heading for the central terminal."

Petra could practically hear the scramble, the mad rush of feet heading in that direction. "Officers, stay in your positions but keep alert," she ordered. She tried to remember who was stationed in the farthest corners of the building—a few rookies, though she couldn't quite recall their names. She racked her brains for a moment and finally came up with: "Jaeger?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You and the other officers with you. Come to the central terminal as well."

"Right away, ma'am!"

A good-hearted young man, Petra thought as she edged her way closer to the center of the large open area, dodging people as they hurried back and forth between terminals. Jaeger was always eager to please, hard-working and respectful. He should be a valuable asset. And if he was paired with Ackerman—the two were practically joined at the hip—they'd definitely be helpful.

Petra scanned the crowd around her, wondering if any of the harried-looking people were part of Levi's scheme. A dark-haired woman in her thirties scowled as she pulled a suitcase behind her, her hand latched onto a little girl's—a decoy? Two gray-haired men in business suits walked past, appearing to argue about something—were they the ones to order the heist? A blond teenage boy lounged by one of the ticket counters, headphones jammed onto his ears and hands shoved into his pockets—a lookout?

She was being overly paranoid, of course, but her senses were on high alert—Levi and his contact were here, and she didn't want to miss either of them.

She tried to figure out where the woman he was meeting would be, considering the train he'd just gotten off. If he came here, he'd be passing many stations, all of which were swarming with people. Gunter was tailing him, of course, and Erd would also be around, but it would be difficult to determine just exactly how the pass was going to be made, and they had to time it exactly right so that when they made the arrest there would be easily accessible yet concrete evidence of Levi's involvement in the matter—

"Petra, what the hell are you doing?"

The use of her first name and the panicked sound of Gunter's voice wrenched her back to the present. She looked around but saw none of her officers, and definitely no sign of Levi. "Pardon, Schulz?"

"Wait, no—that's not—that's the woman! Erd! Auruo! She just turned for the other—yes—follow her!"

Petra frowned and lowered her head, tugging her microphone clip closer to her mouth. "What's going on?"

Curses and then the sound of fleeting footsteps filtered through her earpiece, interspersed with hissed orders. "Follow her, Braus! Don't just stand there—are you _eating_?"

"Hey," Petra said, "someone fill me in."

Auruo's voice came through, frazzled and annoyed. "The pass has already been made."

"What? How?"

"We were tricked. Levi's contact? She looks just like you."

_"What?"_

"Where are you right now?"

Petra turned and nearly ran into someone, a tall girl with glossy hair and glossier lipstick who shot her a nasty look before hurrying past. She murmured an apology and headed for the closest wall where she could talk in relative peace, pulling out her phone and holding it to her ear as she did.

"I'm still in the central terminal."

"Dammit." It was Gunter now, his voice bitter. "We should have known."

"She looked _just like you_," Erd spoke up. "And she was wearing pretty much the same clothing as you too. This can't be a coincidence."

Before Petra could answer, before her brain could fully process the meaning behind the words, a flash of steel, a flicker of polished gray caught her attention. She turned and looked Levi straight in the eye.

He looked the same as he had the first and last time she'd met him—dark gray suit, black tie, perfectly parted hair and that perpetual curl of something like amusement at the corner of his mouth. He looked like any other businessman in France, just without a briefcase, like he was on his way to a bank meeting in Germany or a client's appointment in Belgium.

In that crowd of people, only she knew the truth: he was one of the most infamous art thieves in the world, and she was going to catch him.

Her gun was strapped to her waist beneath her open trenchcoat, and she had a pair of handcuffs in her pocket—she hadn't wanted to cause a scene, she'd wanted to apprehend him somewhere more secluded, preferably with backup and preferably with his contact there too, before the pass had been made—but this would have to do. He was notorious for disappearing in the blink of an eye, who knew when she or anyone would next see him again if at all, she had no idea if they'd be able to catch the woman he'd met with—this was her only chance.

In the three seconds it took for these thoughts to run through her mind, in the three seconds it took for her to make a decision and reach for her gun, he took three steps out of the crowd to stand before her—and kissed her.

She jerked back in shock but his hand was now on the back of her neck, his fingers unyielding, keeping her mouth secured to his. His lips were salty, almost metallic—_like blood, _she thought, _like coins, like the dishonest money he makes_—but warm and firm, and she couldn't remember the last time a man had stood so close to her and for one moment she nearly found herself kissing back.

And then rationality kicked in and she shoved hard against his chest, pushing him back. "What the _hell_?" she demanded, breathing hard, hoping she didn't look as flustered as she felt.

That infuriating smirk was back, flickering in his eyes, at the edges of his lips. "Until we meet again, officer," he said, and then before she could do anything he turned and melted back into the crowd.

_No, _he was _not_ disappearing on her again—! She was _this close_; he was _not_ getting away this time.

Petra reached for her gun, but it was gone.

* * *

"You got away okay, Anka?"

"Yeah," her voice came through the speaker as Moblit pulled out of the parking lot, shooting an anxious glance at Hanji as the woman leaned into the backseat to talk into the phone, completely ignoring her seatbelt.

"And you've still got the item."

"Yeah, thanks," the German girl said, amusement coloring her tone. "Mr. Pixis will be pleased; his wife's angry with him again for drinking too much. He thinks this will appease her."

"Excellent job, my dear," Erwin said. "Your performance was flawless."

She giggled a little; Levi could practically see her blush as Erwin turned on the charm. Levi leaned his face against the window and rolled his eyes, and for some reason he thought Petra Ral—Anka's doppelganger, or perhaps it was the other way around—would not be so easily affected.

"Any complications?" Erwin asked after the call was disconnected. Levi looked up to see the blond man quirking an eyebrow at him.

"No," he said shortly, turning back to the window.

"Really now?" Hanji broke in, a grin evident in her voice. "I checked the security footage. I could've sworn Officer Ral was where you were headed, and we all know she's had an eye on you for ages now."

"I dealt with her."

"How?"

If Hanji had seen the security footage, there was no need to ask, but Levi didn't feel like giving her what she wanted. "I sufficiently distracted her."

"So how did she do?" Erwin wanted to know, interrupting Hanji's teasing. "You _were_ the one to arrange it."

Levi pulled the gun out from the inside pocket of his coat and turned it over in his hands. It was a standard officer-issue pistol, nothing special. "She did pretty well. Lived up to my expectations."

"You're not going to give me the details?" Hanji pouted.

"Fuck off."

She laughed and changed the subject, turning to the topic of the gaping holes in the train station's security measures. Levi tuned her out, choosing instead to look out the window as the lights of Paris flashed by, flipping the gun in his hands over and over.

_Until we meet again, officer, _he'd said.

He looked forward to it.


	23. Misconception

_A/N: For __**evilbunny01 **on tumblr.__  
_

_In general, this is pretty silly and not meant to be taken seriously. don't take it seriously, okay, people?_

* * *

Petra knows she's staring again.

She tries not to, but sometimes she finds her eyes are just drawn in his direction—like during breakfast, when the morning is sleepy and quiet and calm, or when they have finished dinner and are sitting around the table, talking and laughing or just relaxing in peace—like when they have nothing better to do, when they aren't on the lookout for Titans or malfunctions in equipment, her eyes will just naturally gravitate towards him.

And it's frustrating, because she's never been that kind of girl, starry-eyed and full of wishful thinking, vain hopes and silly dreams, heart made of glass—easily shattered, but who doesn't use glass? Petra knows it's probably a common foolish thing to happen in the military, a subordinate with a crush on his or her superior, but that doesn't stop her from staring anyway.

She still doesn't know him very well yet—she has only been under his command for a few weeks and all she has gathered so far is that he is older than he looks, he has a worse mouth than all the boys in her trainee squad combined, he has better hygiene than all the girls in her trainee squad combined, and his sleep schedules are even more erratic than the beating of her heart whenever he says her name.

She knows this is not love, this is just a little infatuation and it will go away soon, but she feels stupid anyway, even as her eyes trace the lines of his face from behind her father's letters.

She thinks she is being discreet, but one evening when Levi retires surprisingly early to his room, Hanji scoots her chair up next to Petra's and says with a little smirk, "I can see you staring."

"W-what?" Petra looks up from her papers in shock, trying and failing to stop a blush from rising to her cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's okay," Hanji says, patting her on the back. "Lots of people idolize Levi, and it's no surprise you've got a little crush on him."

Petra supposes there's no point in denying it; she sighs as picks up her pen, preparing to write a reply to her father. "I know it's ridiculous and it'll pass soon, but…"

"Don't worry about it," Hanji assures her. "Besides, just to let you know, he's not at all what you'd expect him to be."

Petra frowns at that. "I know he's shorter than most people think, and he's strangely obsessed with cleaning, and his jokes are so not funny they shouldn't even be considered jokes—"

"Ah, I'm not talking about that." There is a twinkle in Hanji's eye that Petra has never seen before, and she finds it oddly suspicious for a moment.

"What do you mean then?"

Hanji drapes an arm around Petra's shoulders. "Have you ever seen him with a woman before?"

"You?"

The scientist rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. I've known Levi for years and I can tell you I've never seen him glance at a woman that way before. Not even once."

"You're not saying…"

A sly grin curls at the corners of Hanji's mouth. "I'm just saying, he trusts Erwin _very_ much, if you know what I mean."

Petra's pen drops to the floor with a loud clatter.

* * *

Levi never does figure out why Petra gives him the oddest looks when she sees him standing next to Erwin.

* * *

_A/N: I did warn you._


	24. Gold

When he was a boy, he associated gold with wealth.

It is the color of fanciness, of riches, of men and women in carriages with their fur coats and leather gloves and shiny shoes adorned with buckles and gems, crystals of the elite families. It is the color of the sun in the winter sky, never warm enough to ward off the chill on frosty mornings, the color of coins flashing in money pouches just out of reach, the color of money he needed but never had.

Gold is luxury, gold is not meant for him, never was, and no matter how much he stole, how much he slashed with his knife, how bloody his blade became, it would always slip out of his fingers, taunting him with its closeness, but never close enough, always beyond his grasp.

He thought he had it for an all-too-brief time—when Erwin brought him into the Scouting Legion, when he finally found a new purpose in turning his blades on the Titans, when Petra smiled at him, her eyes and hair sparkling with that opulent color. She would clasp his hand in hers and her skin was honey, her voice silver, all soft and splendid, riches he never dreamed he could have, but she was his for a period of time, gold he could finally touch and savor, and he thought maybe things were finally different.

But she was only a flight of fancy; she is gone now, something fleeting, out of reach—he thought he had her, but she has slipped out of his fingers as easily as all the other things he could never hold on to, and he thinks he should have known.

He likes to think the Scouting Legion changed him, took away that raw veneer of dirt and grit, the invisible bloodstains and grime he could never scrub off, but in the end, he is still the same: it turns out the Titans are human and he's right back to square one; he's still a murderer and nothing has changed, and everything gold will always, always be beyond his grasp.


	25. Numbers

_A/N: Someone asked for more coffee shop AU so... yeah._

* * *

It must have been temporary insanity.

People are always telling him to stop writing on his hands; all he has to do is bring a pen tip within three inches of his palm and there will be someone saying _that's bad for you_ or _you're going to get ink poisoning_ or _someday you're going to regret all the times you did that_.

Levi really doesn't give a shit and he always says as much—writing on his hands seems to be the one thing people aren't afraid to bother him about—but sometimes, he thinks their words have a grain of truth.

Why else would he have added Petra Ral to his friends list otherwise when he doesn't even _use_ his Facebook?

Pushing open the door to the coffee shop, Levi tries not to glance at her where she stands behind the counter, preparing orders, as he makes his way to his usual seat in the corner, halfway hidden from view by a potted plant. He slings his bag onto the table and sits down, thinking he won't buy a drink this time. He's just here to study. That's all. There's a very relaxing atmosphere about the place that is conducive to retaining information in his brain.

Five minutes later, he finds himself in line.

"The usual?" the blond guy at the cash register asks when he steps up to the counter. Levi thinks he looks somewhat familiar, but like most of the other faces he sees every day, he can't quite place it.

He nods and the guy turns around to call out, "You know what he wants, Petra!"

"On it!" she answers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she heads for the blender. She looks up, catches Levi's eye, and flashes him a quick smile before getting to work.

He swallows and averts his gaze, digging around in his pockets for a few crumpled bills. He frowns when his fingers come away with nothing, then glances across the room and realizes his wallet is in his backpack.

A line is already forming behind him, and he does _not_ want to stand in it. He raises his eyes to the cashier's, scowling, wondering if the guy will let him hold his place for a moment—but then Petra passes by with a cup and says, "It's on me, Erd."

The blond guy—Erd—looks amused, for some reason. "Alright then," he says. He nods at Levi, then looks down the line. "Next?"

Levi blinks, confused, but shoves his hands in his pockets and walks to the end of the counter, leaning his shoulder against the wood. He watches as Petra stirs cream into the cup, her fingers precise and purposeful as she measures out the amount of sugar and then pours it in. She adds ice too—not too much, not too little—and places the lid on with one quick movement and turns, holding it out to him with a cheerful smile.

"Enjoy!" she says.

He takes it, and nearly walks away, but she _did_ pay for it, and it would be polite to say thank you (to most people's surprise, he does know basic etiquette), and—"Why?" is what comes out of his mouth instead of the gratitude he planned.

"You looked more distressed than usual," she explains, picking up a towel and giving the countertop a quick wipe. "I thought you might have forgotten your money or something. It's okay if you didn't—don't pay me back. Hope you like it!"

Yes, saying thank you now would be a good idea, but Levi can only stare at her, and for a moment a thought flashes through his mind: _People like this actually exist?_

He must have been staring longer than he thought (though he finds this happens quite often where Petra Ral is concerned) because she clears her throat a little self-consciously and says, "Is something wrong?"

He forces his brain back to the present and shakes his head quickly. "Uh, no. Nothing. I mean… thanks."

A mischievous little grin steals over her face and she puts the towel away, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter. "By the way, I'm your _fourth_ Facebook friend? Really? I just got a Facebook and I already have way more than that."

He resists the urge to cringe; so she _did_ see that. At least she accepted the friend request. "I don't really use Facebook."

"Yeah, I figured."

She is still grinning at him, her eyes sparkling with mirth; there are little dimples on her cheeks and for some reason the word "cute" comes to mind and he suddenly wants to touch them so before his fingers can decide to do something stupid by themselves, he blurts the first thing he can think of: "Four's a good number."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Well, the Chinese don't think so because it sounds like their word for death—the Japanese too, I think—but it's solid. Good in equations and good to count by. Things usually come in twos or threes or fours, but two can be too little and three isn't easily divisible, but four—four seasons, four compass points, four elements, the four humors. It's a good number."

He clamps his mouth shut then because _fuck_, he's babbling, which he almost never does, but something about Petra's bright smile and shining eyes makes him nervous and _dammit_ she did not need to hear about his fascination with numbers.

He ducks his head and turns to leave but suddenly there is something warm grasping his other hand, pulling it up, and it takes him a moment to realize Petra is holding it; and then something presses into his palm, soft yet sharp all at once, tickling his skin, and it doesn't process that she is writing on his hand until she sets the pen down and curls his fingers into a fist over his palm.

"That's a good number too," she says, still with that impish little grin.

Before he can respond, the blond cashier guy—Erd—calls over, "Quit flirting with the customers and get to work, Ral!"

Her cheeks flush a pale pink and she whirls around, storming over to smack him in the shoulder. "Shut up, Gin!"

Levi returns to his seat, one hand cold from his iced coffee and the other warm from where Petra held it. He kicks his chair out and sits, setting his drink down so he can look more closely at the digits scrawled across his skin.

Six odd, four even, interspersed with each other well. No nines—he doesn't like nines, they're so close to ten they should just _be_ tens—and two fours. The middle three digits by themselves are a palindrome and everything adds up nicely.

He stares until they are committed to memory and then picks up his drink and takes a sip, flipping open his laptop as he does so. Even as he opens spreadsheets and starts graphing changes in the stock market, the string of digits inscribed on his palm hovers just above his conscious mind.

It _is_ a good number. Maybe he'll call it sometime.


	26. That Time of Month

_A/N: Prompted by an anon on tumblr._

_I'm sorry I've been so lazy with review replies lately. I'll get around to them! eep._

* * *

It has only been a few weeks since his new squad was formed, and already their habits and quirks are as familiar to Levi as his own. He knows how Erd can never fall asleep on his back, why Gunter flinches whenever a spider scuttles across the floor, what it means when Auruo wipes blood off his mouth again and why he should not be alarmed.

And Petra—Petra Ral, the only female on his squad—he knows her daily routine as well as if she has been around all this time, brewing coffee for them every morning, brushing her horse in the stables at noon, writing letters to her father by candlelight at night. She is all smiles, bright corners and soft angles, good-natured and eager to please; she has easily become a new constant in his life, and he thinks he knows her pretty well already.

Which is why he is confused right now, frowning ever so slightly as she walks into the room, hair messy and eyes still swollen with sleep, uniform rumpled and a scowl on her face.

"Slept in today?" Auruo says around a mouthful of breakfast. "I think Gunter made the coffee; it's shitty compared to yours."

Levi raises an eyebrow at him over his cup. "I made it."

Auruo chokes. "It's… still good though, captain! It's good; Petra's is just—" He breaks out in a fit of coughing and Erd has to pound him on the back.

Gunter chuckles and Levi glances at Petra, expecting amusement from her as well. Instead, she is glaring off into space, her eyebrows drawn and lips puckered.

"You okay, Petra?" Erd asks.

That seems to snap her out of her daze; she blinks and her eyes focus on them. "Yeah, I'm fine," she mutters, and heads for the kitchen, her steps listless and dull.

Gunter, Auruo, and Erd share a worried glance; Levi takes another sip of his coffee and tells himself there's nothing to be concerned about, but he can't help wondering what's gotten the most cheerful member of his squad in such a bad mood.

* * *

The training routine today is the same as it always is—Levi plans to change it after another week, just not yet—but something is off about Petra's performance. Her turns are slightly wider than usual, her reactions a bit slower, her movements not nearly as fluid as they usually are as she pulls herself through the air like it is a chore and not a natural motion she does dozens of times every day. She grimaces as she lands in a tree and hunches over slightly, gripping the branch until her knuckles turn white.

"Is something wrong?" he finally asks her after the morning is over and they are putting their equipment away. "You did much worse than usual today."

A bit blunt, perhaps, but he already filtered the words (_what's wrong with you? You did terrible_ was what first popped into mind). Petra sighs a little and raises her eyes to his, suddenly looking sad and weary.

"I'm fine, captain," she says. "I just… don't feel too well right now."

"Are you coming down with a fever?" Perhaps he worked them too hard in the past few weeks. He silently curses; he knows his stamina is much greater than most people's and he should have taken that into consideration. "If you're getting sick…"

"No, it's not that." She smiles weakly and looks away, curling one arm over her abdomen and rubbing her side slightly. "I… my stomach hurts, that's all."

He blinks. _That's it?_ "Why don't you go take a shit then?"

He is perfectly serious, but her cheeks flush instantly—a dark, angry red. "Maybe I _will_," she bites out, and then storms past him, leaving the rest of her gear in a messy heap on the ground.

He watches her go, then turns back to his own 3DMG, feeling rather perplexed. _Was it something I said?_


	27. Three Sentence Fics AU

_A/N: I wrote a bunch of prompted three sentence fics (some of them are more than three sentences, welp) for a meme on tumblr. Here is a crapload of AU setting ones; next will be the canonverse ones._

_Prompts are in bold._

* * *

**Levi/Petra; fantasy au**

His voice is low in her ear, quiet and deadly and sharp like the knife against her throat as he says, "You didn't see anything."

She catches the faint flash of black curling at the nape of his neck, wispy feathery lines that form the tips of what she knows to be a double-wing symbol tattooed on his back: the symbol of the Legion, the capital's most feared assassin's guild—and judging by the cold, flat look in his gray eyes, he is perfectly willing to live up to his guild's reputation.

But Petra hasn't been surviving on the streets for the past five years by being a weak little girl; she gives him her sweetest smile even as she twists back and knees him in the groin.

* * *

**The Actor AU where the characters act out the show: rivetra of course! :3**

He is an actor, has played out and watched countless scenes of blood and death with the people portrayed on screen—he can often be found cracking jokes and making witty comments during these moments—but there is something about this particular scene that makes the breath hitch in his throat, the air freeze in his lungs, and he cannot tear his eyes away from that bloody and bruised body rolling off the cart, eyes shadowed and hair still as lovely as ever, and the very thought of leaving that body to be trampled by (admittedly CGI) Titans, never seeing that smile again, never hearing her laugh again, makes him want to—

"Oh my god, you doofus," she says, rolling her eyes from her spot by his left side, "it's not _real_; I can't believe you're getting sad considering we _both acted this scene_—ugh, I'm perfectly fine, see?"

She clasps his hand in hers and gives him a reassuring smile, and feeling the warmth of her fingers around his, seeing the affectionate light in her eyes, he squeezes her hand back and feels a bit better.

* * *

**Rivetra actors AU - Levi asking Petra out on a date?!**

Sometimes she thinks he is quite honestly the star of the show—he steals the stage every time he appears, whether as himself with his clever jokes and sarcastic comments or as his character with his "all-around badassery" (as he's dubbed it)—but he has never looked more like an extra than he does now: shuffling his feet, rubbing his neck, clearly wishing he could fade into the background and stay there as he waits for her response.

She wants to laugh because _doesn't he know how much she's wanted this? Doesn't he know how long she's waited for this?_—but he is not looking at her, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ground just a bit past her knees, so she rolls her eyes, grabs him by the collar of his shirt, and kisses him firmly on the cheek, just two centimeters shy of his mouth.

He gapes at her, stunned, even as his hands reach for her waist to pull her into a hug, and she finds her lips breaking into a smile of their own accord.

"That was a yes, you dolt."

* * *

**Rivetra in Casablanca. Please. ^^ I love all your writing!**

He is impressed: her hand is steady, the gun unwavering as she points it at him, her voice calm and undisturbed; it is only the faint flicker in her eyes, those liquid pools of amber he knows so well, that gives her away.

He steps closer to her and exhales loudly despite knowing how his breath must stink of cigarette smoke; he stares her in the face, thinks of her tall, handsome husband and the letters they need burning a hole in his pocket, and lowers his voice to say, "Go ahead and shoot. You'll be doing me a favor."

When her hand drops and she turns away, tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes, he knows he was right—she still loves him, and he wishes she didn't even as he presses her tightly to him and kisses her like it really is the last time.

* * *

**rivetra- your music au?**

Petra is still indignant as they leave the subway, emerging onto the crowded streets of Manhattan to join the throngs of pedestrians heading home for the evening. "I still can't believe she―I mean, that's not the first time I've heard it, I know it _does _look like one but―I just can't believe a _complete stranger_ told me I had a hickey and―it's a _violin mark_, dammit!"

Levi hasn't said anything as she complained for the past two minutes, but he finally turns to her, and his face is passive but there is a clear smirk in his voice as he says, "You know, if you were wearing a lower shirt, she wouldn't have been wrong."

She smacks him in the arm, feeling her cheeks start to heat up, and vows to get him back later that night.

* * *

**Rivetra Avatar AU**

She stands out in the crowd of dirt browns and grass greens, a bright flash of orange amidst the dull colors and listless eyes and hopeless faces of the other defeated villagers. When his eyes linger on her, she stares right back, eyes sparking in fury, face defiant and fingers curled into fists—almost an earthbending position—mouth set in a derisive sneer of hatred for his people, of clear challenge: _You think the Fire Nation has won? You think you've beaten us? We'll never stop fighting back._

For one moment he feels something that might be a twinge of regret as he clamps iron shackles on her wrists.

* * *

**Rivetra ~ Text messaging**

She's usually a very good student, never causing trouble and always following the rules, but paying attention to the slideshow is nearly putting her to sleep and she might as well put her unlimited text messaging plan to good use; she hits the send button and slips the phone back into her pocket as discreetly as she can, trying to resist the urge to sneak a peek at Levi over her shoulder—

"Are you _texting in class_?"

She gulps and looks up, ready to face her history teacher's wrath, but instead the woman is bearing down on Petra's boyfriend, a deep crease in her brow as she peers down at the misbehaving student with his hands under his desk.

Levi looks back up at her, his gaze bland; "No, ma'am," he says, and his voice is completely deadpan. "I'm jerking off."

* * *

**Rivetra, Romeo &Juliette**

Her hair is what first snags his attention, causes him to turn and look back at the young woman with the lovely shining eyes, her face serene and lips curved into a gentle smile—until he sees the men crowding around her, all-too-familiar faces, all-too-familiar shades of yellow and brown, and realizes that she is a Ral.

Her hair is just as lovely under the moonlight when he kisses her for the first time, his hands tangling in it as he whispers her name against her lips; she clutches him tightly like she never wants to let go and he wonders how this can be wrong when it feels so _right_.

Her hair is spread across the floor, golden silk and bright amber, a stark contrast to her deathly pale skin; and he wishes he had never met her at all even as he tries to kiss life back into her cold dead lips, because if her cousin had stabbed him through the heart during their sword fight it would surely not hurt as much.

* * *

_A/N1: I LOVE fantasy. Like pretty much all the books I read are fantasy and pretty much all my original fiction is fantasy._

_A/N2: There's a ton of SnK actor AU fanart and headcanons out there—like if SnK were a TV show acted by real people. In case that wasn't clear from the minifics._

_A/N3: I've never watched Casablanca before; I've only read the summary on wikipedia and googled the script, so please forgive me if it's all wrong._

_A/N4: The music AU is posted on my profile. I've also written other drabbles and short ficlets for it that are on tumblr only._

_A/N5: Avatar AU is Avatar: The Last Airbender, a super epic and awesome kids' cartoon in case you haven't heard of it before. I love it to bits._

_A/N6: Most of these were just the first random ideas that popped into mind._

_A/N7: I'm a lazy bum who fails at review replies. I promise I'll do them, sorry._


	28. Three Sentence Fics Canonverse

_A/N: And here are the canonverse ones. __There's a jealous Levi drabble here for the guest reviewer who wanted to see jealous Levi._

* * *

**Rivetra, babies~**

He doesn't need as much sleep as most people, but when he's sleeping, he likes to _stay_ that way—so when he is jolted from his slumber in the dead of night to the high-pitched wailing of his three-month-old infant daughter, he thinks he is perfectly justified in groaning and rolling over, shoving his pillow over his head.

Petra stirs next to him; her eyes are still shut but she nudges him in the leg with her foot and says, voice drowsy, "She's all yours, remember? Unless you want to trade and get peed on all the time."

Levi is out of the bed in a flash.

* * *

**Rivetra Horse riding**

"Are you sure you're okay, sir?"

"For the last time, I'm _fine_," he mutters, urging his horse forward; but he isn't, not really, because Petra's mount bolted at the last Titan attack and now she is sitting behind him, her arms around his waist, her breath tickling his neck, her thighs touching his, and the fact that she is solid and warm and smelling strangely nice, sweaty but also kind of sweet, makes him feel quite distracted—which irritates him greatly because they're in the middle of an expedition and this is no time for distractions.

They ride on in silence; she shifts against his back and he clenches his teeth, telling himself it's because his horse stumbled slightly, not because the motion caused Petra's legs to tighten around his.

* * *

**rivetra - jealousy**

He's being ridiculous.

Levi tells himself this as he tries and fails to tear his eyes away from the other side of the room, where Erwin is talking to Petra—the commander says something, a wry twist to his lips, and Petra laughs, the sound high and clear and lovely—and Levi grinds his teeth and tells himself he trusts Erwin, he respects Erwin, but the thoughts flash through his mind anyway: _stay away from him, Petra_ and _there is no heart in his chest, only a ruthless machine programmed to do one thing and one thing only _and _he will watch you bleed and die with no remorse if it will advance humanity one step further_.

But he's being ridiculous, irrational, he shouldn't be this worked up over something so small, something so stupid—it's probably just a friendly conversation, nothing more—and he repeats this to himself over and over even as he watches Petra swat Erwin on the arm fondly, as Erwin smiles back, a glint of acknowledgment in his eye as he does not meet his best soldier's gaze across the room.

* * *

**Rivetra- Puppy**

"Get that disgusting thing away from me."

"Come on," she says with a pout, "it's _cute_," but she does pull the mangy ball of fur away—just so she can cuddle it herself. The fluffy golden-brown thing lets out a little whine, wagging its tail (_fleas, _Levi thinks, _it's probably full of fleas_), and Petra coos at it, rubbing its head and kissing it on the tip of its wet black nose.

Levi can't remember ever being so fully divested of her attention before when he is in her presence, so he does the first thing that comes to mind—he reaches out and finds the firm bit of flesh above Petra's thigh and gives it a hard pinch; she yelps at the sudden contact and gapes at him, her cheeks flooding with color, and he gives her a faint smirk.

"Not as cute as your ass."

* * *

**rivetra~ infidelity**

She can sense the other woman all over him.

Whoever she is, she's everywhere—in the tips of his fingers where they must have traveled all over her body, seeking something he can't find within the Scouting Legion; in the hard muscles of his back, where her fingernails are firmly imprinted in his flesh; in the corners of his lips, gentle spots she must have kissed so many times, sucked on, tugged at with her teeth until the name of his bright-haired and bright-eyed subordinate must have been the furthest thing from his mind.

Even when Petra lets him explore her body, hands roaming and mouth wandering, lets him press her into his bed and pull all sorts of sounds from her throat, she can smell the other woman all over his sheets; and she doesn't know who she hates more, him for being unfaithful or herself for not saying anything.

* * *

**Can you write a Levi x Petra which Levi sees Petra wearing a dress?**

"How do I look?"

He shoots her a brief glance over his shoulder, a "fine" already prepared to escape his lips, but the word dies in his throat when his eyes take in her outfit: she did mention she was going to buy a dress for the upcoming social event (stupid Sina and its stupid officials and their stupid customs be damned), but he never would have imagined it'd be something like this—an enchanting silky vision of pale purples and blues with a fitted bodice and a swooping skirt; there are only two thin straps holding it up and the neckline is certainly much more daring than the uniform she wears daily. The color sets off her hair in the most lovely way and he has never seen so much of her shoulders and chest before, and looking at that expanse of soft, creamy skin, he suddenly wonders how it would feel under his fingers, against his tongue.

He swallows hard and looks away, forcing his eyes back to his papers. "You look okay, I guess."

* * *

**Rivetra, Petra lives AU :)**

"It's beautiful," Petra says quietly.

He supposes she is right―he has never seen anything like the ocean before, a vast shimmering expanse of not-quite-colors, rippling shades, a reflection of the ever-changing sky, and it is certainly lovely―but the wind is tearing through her hair, stinging at her eyes, turning her cheeks red; the sun gleams a shadowless gold across her face as she turns to look at him, an utterly peaceful smile on her lips, and he thinks she is far more beautiful.

He pulls her close and buries his face in her hair, and silently thanks God they both made it to the end.


	29. Cheating

What infuriates her the most is that he won't even look at her—his gaze is completely fixed on the documents on his desk as if they are a thousand times more interesting than what she has to say, as if the dreary paperwork is far more worth his attention than she is.

"I can't believe you—I thought we made a promise to be honest with each other and you just went and—"

"Stop being childish," he says, flipping a page and still not looking at her, his pen raised to scribble something down. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

She cannot _believe_—the _nerve_—she storms up to his desk and slams her palms down, not caring if she upsets the neat arrangement of items in front of him. "You're calling me _childish_? I didn't hear you saying that when I was _completely dominating you_—"

"Are you done yet?" he interrupts, voice bored.

She gapes at him, unable to process that he is just completely blowing her off like she means nothing, like his betrayal means absolutely nothing. Hurt wells up in her chest and she jabs a finger in his face, trying to hold back another _childish _wave of anger. "I _trusted_ you!"

He finally raises his eyes to hers, and his expression is more tired than anything else. "For fuck's sake, Petra," he says with a weary sigh. "It was just a _card game_."

* * *

_Bet you all saw it coming, huh?_


	30. Heist AU version 2 part 3

_Third part of the second heist AU, in case that wasn't clear from the title. Prompted by an anon on tumblr:_

_**Anonymous asked: Heist AU! Levi meets Petra at a bar and they found out they actually get along? Maybe even Levi felt a little bit of chemistry**_

_Well, they don't exactly get along, but close enough, I guess?_

_BTW, there'll be more. Because my brain has decided this for me._

* * *

Petra couldn't remember the last time she'd gone out drinking—it was a waste of time better spent doing research or analyzing clues or even at the gym—but her friends had insisted, saying she was going to work herself to death if she didn't loosen up and live a little. She didn't agree, but Erd and Auruo were very persuasive and Gunter had a way of phrasing requests that made one feel guilty for _not_ acquiescing, so in the end she found herself sitting on a barstool and sipping a martini, still thinking about work as her male friends were off in the club somewhere, flirting with women.

She swirled the straw in her drink around, trying not to brood, but it was somewhat difficult. It had been a month ago but the incident still weighed heavily on her mind, crept into her thoughts throughout the day and refused to leave, until she was sure she'd lost hours and hours of sleep interpreting the events in probably every single way possible.

Was there really anything she could have done differently? Was any of it her fault? In the end, it had all played out according to Levi's plans, which she'd fallen for like an idiot. He must think so little of her now.

Not that she cared whatsoever what he thought of her.

Then there was that other moment, that one moment the stupid female side of her brain couldn't stop replaying over and over. It was to distract her, she knew that, so he could slip his hand under her coat and unclip her gun from her waist, but no matter how much she tried to forget about it, her mind refused to erase the memory of the hard press of his lips against hers. It had been years since she'd kissed anyone or even dated, and it just figured that the first kiss she'd gotten in ages was from the one man she'd sworn to put in prison.

She swallowed the last mouthful of her drink and set the glass down on the counter, then checked her watch. It wasn't even eleven yet—the night was still young. She glanced over her shoulder but all she saw were strobe lights flashing from the club's dance floor and couples curled in various positions on recliners set out in the lounge area. Her friends were nowhere to be seen.

Petra sighed and looked up at the bartender, a tattooed man in his mid-thirties with different colored eyes and spiky dark hair. "Another?" she said, gesturing at her empty glass.

He whistled. "Not feeling the buzz yet?"

She smiled at him and shook her head. If there was one thing she could brag about holding over the men on her team, it would be her alcohol tolerance. She could drink them all under the table, even Erd, who was often seen on particularly stressful nights with a can or bottle within reach.

As the bartender got to work, Petra reached for her wallet and frowned. She could have sworn she'd put it back in her pocket after paying for her last drink but now the only thing she felt at her fingertips was a bottle of pepper spray—

"Don't bother. I'm paying."

She didn't have to turn around to see who'd spoken. She would recognize that low, smooth voice anywhere. "Levi," she said evenly, hands tightening into fists by her sides. "First my gun, now my wallet too?"

He took a seat next to her, sliding onto the barstool much more easily than she had, though he was more or less her size. She didn't look at him but her peripheral vision caught the pale flash of his fingers sliding a crisp twenty-euro note across the counter.

"Keep the change," he told the bartender when the man turned around with her drink ready.

Petra didn't understand what it was about Levi that made him so intimidating. She didn't have to glance over at him to know what he looked like: hair that was never messy, suit that was never wrinkled, shoes that were never _not _gleaming. And of course, those cold gray eyes and that pale, amused mouth.

But he was _short_, and he could easily be mistaken for just another European businessman, so she didn't know why people flinched away from him, refused to meet his gaze and backed away at his presence.

The bartender left them alone and Petra picked up her glass, taking a sip. The cool liquid burned down her throat but she hardly felt it; being in Levi's company always seemed to suck all the air out of the surroundings, like everything was centered around him. It could just be because she'd pretty much devoted the last year of her life to hunting him down, but considering the way his mouth had felt on hers, she had to admit maybe it wasn't just that.

_Why can't he be a woman?_ she grumbled to herself, setting her glass down on the counter.

"Are you going to give me my wallet back?" she said when he did not move or speak; he just sat there, his eyes never leaving hers. She could feel the heat of his gaze without having to look over.

He held it out and she snatched it out of his palm, trying to avoid brushing his skin. She failed; his hand was cool and dry as always.

_Wow, Ral,_ she scoffed, _you've touched his hand maybe two times and you're already thinking 'always.' Way to go. _She gulped down half of her drink, trying to chase the thoughts away.

What was he doing here? And of course it had to be tonight of all nights—when her team was off somewhere doing who-knows-what, probably making fools of themselves, when the only weapon she had on her was her trusty can of pepper spray, when she was completely disconnected from her job so she couldn't make an arrest even if she had proof of one of his many misdeeds.

She had a feeling he wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon though; she might as well humor him. She finally turned to look at him, and her eyes nearly popped in surprise.

He looked so _normal_—this was the first time she'd seen him in anything other than a suit. In every single picture that had been taken of him, every single shot that had been captured onscreen, in surveillance cameras, he was wearing a suit—always black or dark gray—usually with a dark-colored tie or sometimes even a ridiculous cravat (seriously, who actually wore those anymore?).

Now he could pass for any other club-goer, in a pair of loose jeans and a dark button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Petra's eyes caught on the lines of ink swirled on his forearms, spidery letters that looked like blood, black and dark blue patterns that looked like brushstrokes from the Impressionist paintings he stole.

"You have tattoos?" she blurted before she could stop herself.

"They're fake," he said without missing a beat.

For some reason she didn't believe him, but she clamped her mouth shut and turned back to her drink. She'd said too much already; if she wasn't reading him his rights, then she had nothing to say to him.

She lasted for five whole minutes before she cracked again. "Why are you here?" she snapped, shooting him what she hoped was a fierce scowl. "Shouldn't you be off breaking into a safe somewhere or pickpocketing someone instead of paying for my drink and staring at me?"

He shrugged. "It's the least I could do after taking your pistol."

"Yeah, whatever. It was standard-issue anyway; I didn't buy it myself."

His lips quirked and she found her eyes drawn to the movement, to the angle of his throat, the planes of his face. She glared down at her drink, deciding it was to blame for her lapse in attention.

"Bet you had a good laugh at that, huh?" she muttered, flicking a piece of dry skin off her cuticles. "Stupid little police officer walked right into your trap. What an idiot."

"No," Levi said, and she looked up because she'd never heard him sound surprised before. "You did well. Your setup was excellent; I was impressed."

She just stared at him; he _looked_ perfectly serious. His eyes were oddly bright and focused on her, pale and dark all at once, liquid intensity in his gaze, and she tugged at the collar of her shirt, suddenly feeling there was too little space between them. She lifted her glass and gulped down the rest of her martini for something to do, so she wouldn't have to look at him any longer.

"We _will_ get you someday," she said, but she told it to the bottles lining the wall behind the bar counter, not to him.

"Just not today," he said, and that smirk was back again; and dammit, it was infuriating as all hell but it _did_ something to him, softened the coldness of his eyes, the harshness in his features—and it was probably the alcohol in her system talking, the heady atmosphere of the club, but it made him look attractive and she was most irritated with herself for the thought.

"Yeah," she said. "Just not today."

He stood suddenly in one fluid motion, a graceful movement of his limbs from the barstool to the floor, and leaned forward; he was _right next to her_, his warm breath washing over her cheek as he said, "Good luck, officer," and then he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth.

She sat frozen as he moved back, his expression unreadable, and then walked off, hands in his pockets like he hadn't a care in the world. She should be angry, she should shout after him, she should try to find her friends and alert them of Levi's presence—but in a way, she understood. The last time he'd kissed her had been a trick—he'd used her, stolen it from her; it was hard and rough and dominating and maybe he felt bad about it. This was more like a quiet promise, a whispered secret, something far more apologetic and intimate.

Petra watched him until he'd completely vanished into the depths of the club, then turned back to wave the bartender over for another drink. She was going to need it.


	31. Letters

He finds the letters when clearing out her possessions.

She keeps them locked in three separate drawers—there are dozens and dozens of them from her father and friends back home, inquiring after her health, informing her of the most recent gossip, telling her to be careful, asking her to visit again. Her father's letters are precise and well thought out, her friends' cheery yet concerned, their care for the recipient clear in every word.

Then there are the letters as familiar to him as his own face in the mirror or the straps of his 3DMG—penned by his own hand, he remembers every time he sat down to write one, usually while he was in Sina and his squad stayed back. There are not too many of them—he was usually with his squad since its inception—but looking at his own spidery script, he recognizes with a sense of dread how obvious he was, because amidst the complaints about Sina officials and orders to complete the newest obstacle course twice before his return, he sees those _I_'s and _love_'s and _you_'s as plain as day.

But the third drawer is shut firmly—it takes him three tries before he manages to smash open the lock—and when he opens it, he wishes he hadn't because it is full to the brim with letters—letters written in handwriting he doesn't recognize, letters with a somewhat boyish charm to them, letters that ask when she is planning to leave the Scouting Legion and join him, letters that are unsigned.

He sends the contents of the first drawer back to her father and friends, then gathers the letters from the other two and sets them side by side. Among his own scrawled messages he sees hidden declarations as clear to him as his own signature at the bottom, the same sort of hidden declarations he finds in the other man's letters, and he wonders when she was going to tell him, if she was ever going to tell him at all, if the other man was serious or only hopeful when asking her to leave with him, if that man will ever find out what happened to her.

He takes both sets of letters to the fireplace and hesitates for only a fraction of a second before burning them all.


End file.
